


Deathless Returns

by mjeanuniverse



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fili lives...sort of, Kili and Thorin live, Post BoFA, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 21,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjeanuniverse/pseuds/mjeanuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Five Armies is over.  Fili is thought to be dead at the base of Ravenhill.  Thorin and Kili live.  A young blonde dwarf awakens in a tent, a tent in which the dead are being gathered for burial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fili lives!

When he wakes, he is in pain, searing, unbearable and unrelenting pain. As if a razor sharp blade had pierced through his chest and then he had been run over by a heavy dwarven war chariot. Several times. By Mahal’s beard, why could he not claim some dwarf’s body who had just died quietly in bed for once? Deathless thinks to himself, I will have to ask Mahal the next time we meet.  
When he tries to draw in a deep breath, he chokes on blood, the blonde boy’s blood. Blue eyes fly open at the resulting sudden surge of panic of not being able to breath. 

‘Mahal and his hammer, is one of them alive?!'

He hears the voice and the words the voice speaks. He can hear the words clear enough, but they sound a bit garbled, with the syllables meshing together, as if he were underwater. He has been here before. Not in this exact battle, but many, many like it before. When Deathless returns it is when Durin’s folk need him the most. And by all the Valar, he is needed now after this Mahal-damned battle, the Battle of Five Armies. 

Still choking, he is roughly rolled onto his side. Of course they roll onto the side which had been skewered by that monstrous menace, Azog, the Defiler, and his freshly forged blade forearm attachment. Fucking lovely, he will be sure to kick every one of these halfwits in the arse once he has healed properly. Mahal’s hammer and anvil, it HURTS! 

He coughs and spews out huge, thick globs of clotted blood. This is the blonde’s blood as it had congealed in the lad’s throat at his death, but now the heart has restarted, the blood, the body is no longer the boy’s. It is his. He is Durin. He is THE Durin. Durin the Deathless, the dwarf that Mahal sends back to Middle Earth when the need of the dwarves is at its zenith. 

Yes, he is needed now. Yes, the Lonely Mountain had been reclaimed from the dragon. The Defiler and his equally monstrous spawn defeated and slain, but at what cost? The only son of Durin who was meant to survive this enormous battle, sacrificed himself so that the other two sons of Durin could live. Those two were NEVER meant to survive this massive clash of dwarves, elves, men, eagles, and legions of orcs. They were meant to die so that the blonde could, unencumbered with the task of constantly caring and fretting over his kin, rebuild old alliances with the different kinds and lead the dwarven folk to new heights of peace and prosperity. 

Instead the blonde prince had been left to rot in the snow at the foot of Ravenhill. Thorin Oakenshield, whose job it had been to reclaim the mountain, but fall in its defense, had been spared by the blonde’s actions on Ravenhill. As had the blonde prince’s brother, Kili. It had been all part of Mahal’s grand scheme for the two darkhaired Durin royals to fall in battle but for the blonde dwarven royal to rule for decades long past this day. Now Mahal's scheme lay in tatters. 

The blonde had lain dead in the snow, and Thorin Oakenshield had lived. Mahal had sent Durin the Deathless back from the Halls of Waiting yet again to rectify the situation. 

Lungs struggle to inflate. The blood begins to circulate once again. After he clears his trachea enough to take in a breath, he does so. He shudders in the arms of the dwarrow holding him. The voice is back. Clearer now. ‘By my beard…he lives!’ 

The voice shouts an order to another dwarf. ‘Get a healer! NOW! He lives….Fili lives!’


	2. A smiling face and willing heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While watching over Kili after the battle, the Battle of Five Armies, of which both sons of Durin have survived, he remembers his brother, Frerin, and he weeps over his memories of his sister son, Fili.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little sad. You have been warned.

Thorin sits with his youngest sister son…his only sister son now. Kili had been despondent and inconsolable with grief over Fili’s death and angry at the fact that Dwalin and Thorin had intercepted him in his attempt to avenge Fili’s death at the hands of the Azog. Kili had fumed and raged into their faces as Dwalin had bodily dragged him from Ravenhill, but once Azog had leapt from above to attack Thorin, the young, dark haired dwarf had ceased his struggles with Dwalin to assist his uncle. The dwarven trio had slain the Pale Orc, ending his defiling days forever. The last living thing Azog had defiled, had butchered had been his blonde brother, Fili. Kili had cried himself out and finally falls into a fittful sleep. Thorin takes up a position by his nephew’s bedside, to be there when the young dwarf awakes and the pain of losing his brother comes crashes back.

Thorin had lost his own brother, Frerin, at the great and horrid Battle of Moria. It had been during that battle when Thorin had first experienced fighting against Azog, the Defiler. The Pale Orc had beheaded his grandfather and while Thorin had screamed in impotent rage and horror, other orcs had gutted his younger brother, carefree Frerin. Frerin who shared the same brilliant smile as Kili. Those monsters had left the young dwarf mortally wounded, but still alive with his entrails trailing out of his abdomen. They had broken each of his limbs while Frerin screamed for Thorin to come help him. Thorin had stood frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to move to rescue his brother.

As Kili snorts in his sleep, Thorin squeezes his eyes closed in a vain attempt to stop the unwanted memory from coming into his mind. The shame of being so horrified to do NOTHING in the face of his brother being tortured while he died burns within Thorin’s breast. The dwarven king remembers when Kili had been born that he had taken it upon himself to make sure the elder brother, Fili, would never know the pain of losing a brother. He had begun to school the blonde when the lad was still but a dwarfling that it was his job to keep his brother safe, that it was his sacred duty to protect his younger brother. 

Another wave of shame washes over Thorin as he realizes that while he had pounded the thought into Fili’s skull and at times beaten it into Fili’s body, the idea that Kili was to be protected, he had not thought to do the same with the younger brother. The thought that Kili would be the one left bereft and brotherless had simply never occurred to Thorin. Thorin had told Fili the story many, many times of the Battle of Moria and of his grandfather’s death and of Frerin’s death, of the unrelenting grief at having to bear witness to Frerin’s hideous end, of being unable to do ANYTHING while his baby brother was made to suffer and suffer. Thorin had been rather explicit to repeat and reiterate that it was Fili’s duty to make sure that something like that would never, ever happen to HIS baby brother. Each time, the blonde had sworn to ensure Kili’s safety, even if it meant his own demise. 

Thorin grimaces at the memory of Fili’s face at those moments, so serious and erstwhile, too damn young, when he had made that vow to his uncle. Thorin wonders if that is why Fili had told Kili that they should separate on their scouting mission to Ravenhill? Fili had told Kili to search the lower levels. Did he do it as a last ditch effort to keep his solemn vow to his uncle? 

The King Under the Mountain keeps the tears pooling in his eyes at bay. He looks down at his youngest sister son’s face, slack in sleep, and cannot help but wonder how the young dwarf will manage without his brother. How will he manage the guilt, the same kind of guilt that Thorin had been carrying these long years, over his brother’s death? 

At least, Fili had not been crying out of help in his last moments. That was a blessing the dwarven king supposes. Thorin could tell by the way Azog had drug the lad out by the coat, that his legs had already been broken. From the way Fili’s arms had hung limply by his sides when Azog held him aloft, Thorin assumes his arms had either already been pulled from their sockets or the bones smashed. But Fili had remembered the pain that Frerin’s last, desperate words had inflicted on his uncle. He had NOT pleaded for help. He would not add to their pain or helplessness. He had called out to his kin for them to ‘go!’, to ‘run!’, to save themselves as he was beyond help. 

Thorin chokes out a sob and buries his head in the hands. He finally begins to weep for his blonde sister son, the one who had kept his promise, the one to whom Thorin had never found the time to laugh and smile with, to joke with as he had Kili. Instead Thorin had only heaped onto his fair hair, all the great expectations of the entire Longbeard clan. Thorin has never felt such searing pain in his heart, not even Frerin’s death had burned through his gut so badly. With Frerin at least, he had memories of good times experienced together, of mirth and laughter shared with his little brother. With Fili? None. Only endless bouts of weapons training and lessons upon lessons of duty and honor. Of royal deportment and loyality. Of the sacred duty Fili had to him, his King, to his family and kin, to his brother, to all of the Durin folk. And Fili had taken each and every duty upon his shoulders without complaint and given back a smiling face and willing heart. 

Thorin weeps until he too finally dozes off and slumps across Kili’s cot.


	3. Hagar comes to a decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarrow in the death tent are unsure just what to do with an undead and severely injured dwarf. One of them, Darin, thinks to send the others to find a healer. Hagar, the dwarf who had collected Fili's dead body from the the field comes to a different conclusion. He honors the request Fili chokes out, no matter how odd that request may seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very glad to be writing again. I simply had not had the time for the last few months, but things are settled back into a bit of normalcy again. I need to finish up Kili the Seal then I can focus on this one.

Back in the death tent, the weary dwarrow from the Iron Hills are stumbling and bumbling into one another in their haste to get the obviously undead, blonde dwarf to the healing tent. These dwarves are the death collectors, survivors of the great battle who are, while not uninjured, are healthy enough to plod through the battlefield, collecting the dead. Others, the ones given the task to collect the wounded are called gatherers. These dwarrow are uninjured and still have enough remaining strength and energy to scour the field to pluck those lucky few who had fallen yet still lived. 

The death collectors are not used to having their charges scream in pain. Their first thought had been to snatch up the young dwarf and carry him quickly to the healing tent; however, when they moved him, the dwarven prince, Fili, now that he has breath in the his lungs, howls in agony. Gently as they are able, they set him back amongst the dead. The howls sudside to moans and weak groans. The death collectors are clearly out of their depth with this unexpected situation. 

It is one of the youngest, Darin, is the first to gather his wits. He barks the command to his colleagues to leave the blonde be and to summon the healers to this tent as all speed. Darin had not been the one to collect the blonde dwarven prince from the field. He looks about the death tent when his eyes land on the large, broad shouldered dwarf, Hagar. Hagar is usually a most stoic and level headed dwarf, but he stands mouth agape and eyes wide in shock as he stares at the shuddering and shaking blonde dwarf.

‘Hagar, are you the one who found him?’ 

Without tearing his eyes from Fili, Hagar nods numbly. 

‘How in all Middle Earth did you miss that he was alive.’ 

‘He wasn’t.’ 

‘Wasn’t what?’ 

‘He wasn’t alive. He was cold…..no pulse, no breath….a gatherer had just checked him and determined that he was dead. If you want to find a scapegoat, look for that gatherer.’ Hagar snarls. He is tired and bloodsoaked, and his ire rises at the accusation he hears in Darin’s questions.

‘Peace, Hagar…I did not mean to insinuate that you were at fault. But I do know that there will these questions and many more.’ Darin answers, trying to calm the large dwarf. 

‘When I picked him up….it was like lifting a bag of crushed ice.’ Hagar shudders at the memory. ‘You could tell that most of his bones were in small pieces. He made no sound, gave no movement. No different than all the other poor, broken bodies we remove from the field.’

‘But..’

‘I tell you plain, he was DEAD!’ Hagar shouts and looks back to the not dead now blonde dwarf.

The young blonde gives off a muffled sound, not a groan or a moan. More like words. Darin moves forward to lean close over the bloodsmeared mouth. Hagar refuses to budge from his position as far from Fili as possible while still remaining in the tent.

‘Thran….’ Fili whispers, his breath rattling in his throat.

‘Come again?’ Darin asks. He HATES to ask but he had not understood the dwarven prince.

‘Elven king…’ Fili has to stop to try to draw in more breath. ‘Woodland….’ Another breath. ‘Fetch him.’

‘King Thranduil? The elven king of the Woodland Realm?’ Darin asks in stunned surprise. Fili gives the barest of nods. 

Looking up to make eye contact with Hagar, Darin asks his colleague. ‘Do you think he means Thranduil? What in the blazes would he want with that woodland sprite?’ 

Hagar does not answer for several moments, but he comes to a decision. If a dwarf, one who had once been dead up until a few minutes ago, awakens and asks for someone specifically, even if it is an elf, then he, Hagar, will damn sure go get him. Period. 

Darin watches in dismay as Hagar bolts from the death tent.


	4. Oh fuck it, show me the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hagar finds Thranduil in his tent. After hearing what Hagar has to say, Thranduil decides to go see the 'undead' dwarf for himself.

Hagar runs as if Durin’s Bane, the Balrog of Khadad dum, itself is on his heels. Even though he is exhausted, hungry, and weary as he had marched for days on end from the Iron Hills, had fought a terrible bloody battle against legions of ruthless orcs upon arrival at the Lonely Mountain, and then had been assigned as a death collector, Hagar weaves at speed in and out amongst dwarves, men, and elves in search of the King of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves. 

Most of the warriors he passes are far too concerned with their own worries to notice him as he makes his way closer to Thranduil’s tent. He had never seen such sloppy and shoddy security in all his a hundred and thiry four years. He has been allowed to dart unmolested and unnoticed through the entire elven encampment. Hagar wonders vaguely who the hell was in charge of the elven guards? Whoever it is should be sacked and immediately, Hagar muses as he pulls up just outside the large tent with Thranduil’s elk banner flying atop it. 

Pausing to catch his breath and gather his thoughts, Hagar slips inside the tent after several moments. He finds King Thranduil looks decidedly unkingly. The elf with the platinum blonde hair sits on his chair, drinking wine, and looking for as if all the troubles in Middle Earth had landed on his shoulders. The elven king is totally alone and completely unguarded. 

After his son, Legolas, had left in a snitch over the traitorous, treasonous, manipulative, and who turned out to surprisingly incompetent in actual battle when it counted, Tauriel, the captain of the guard. Former captain Thranduil sneers into his cup. She had used Legolas’s deep affections for her on more than one occasion, but the boy had simply refused to acknowledge that fact. Not even after saving her skin from the spawn of the great, white orc Azog, Bolg, had Tauriel even taken a moment to thank Legolas before she hurried off to see to the fate of the young dwarf. He assumes the elf maid will likely remain in Erebor since her true love, the dark haired nephew of Thorin Oakenshield survived the battle. 

Thranduil snorts the lad hardly looks like a dwarf. More like a very short Ranger of the North. If fact, he strongly resembles the son of a good man that Thranduil had sent his own son to find in Rivendell. The thought of Thorin having to seeing the loving pair together brings a spiteful smile to Thranduil’s dour face, the remarkably unbearded dwarf matched with slightly unhinged and perhaps mentally unstable, disgraced elven captain of the guard. 

Thranduil is half way to getting thoroughly and utterly pissed to drown his distress over his fractured relationship with his son, but he finds his mind unexpectedly wandering to the young dwarf prince. Dwarves are full grown by the age of forty, and while the lad does appear to be young, surely not so young as to not have a beard yet? Perhaps it is due to the fact that he is an archer and could not risk getting his beard ensnared in his bow? Thranduil snarls in frustration at having his thoughts drift to such inconsequential things, and he chucks his wine glass at his armor where it lies strewn upon the ground.

Hagar jumps as the Elven King had whirled round and sent the the glass whistling past his ear. Hagar is too damn tired to run away so he simply stands stock still and warily watches as surprised shock registers on the platinum blonde elf’s face.

‘Who the fuck are you? ‘ Thranduil finally snaps. 

‘Hagar.’ 

‘Uh….well? What do you want, dwarf? Come here to kill me? Thranduil jokes. Why not, things really could not get much worse. Maybe this dwarf will do him the favor.

‘Hmm…uh….’ Hagar stutters. He had not thought about what he would say to the elven king once he had gotten an audience with him, but he certainly had not expected that reception from the King of the Woodland Realm. 

Thranduil heaves a deep sigh and turns to grab another glass and splashes a large amount of wine into it. 

‘A dwarf…a dwarven prince has reawakened from the dead and is asking for you. Only you.’ Hagar says in a rush to Thranduil’s back. 

The wine glass freezes mid air and the elven king cocks his head towards the intruder. 

‘A dwarf princeling asking for me? Please do not tell me that unbearded dwarf wants to see me. Truly, I don’t think my nerves could take that conversation.’

‘Uh…no, the blonde one.’

‘The one that got run through by Azog and goat dropped off the tall mountain? Surely he is dead.’

‘Well, he WAS. He is not now. Dead, I mean. ‘ 

When Thranduil turns to stare incredulous at Hagar, he continues. ‘As I said, the blonde prince who was stone cold DEAD when I collected him from the field, suddenly awoke and asked for you straight away. That’s why I’m here.’ 

Thranduil sips his wine slowly, weighing Hagar’s words. Then he gulps the entire remaining contents down messily. Wiping his mouth with the back of the hand and long sleeve, Thranduil barks out. ‘Oh, Fuck it. Show me the way, my good dwarf.’ 

Hagar nods quickly in relief and begins the journey back to the tent where the dwarves have collected their dead for burial.


	5. A prince who fell LONG before his time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil's suspicions are confirmed once he has a chance to speak to the blonde dwarf. Dwalin is not amused when other death collectors come to the healing tent to say Fili is still alive.

Darin looks up expectantly when the tent flap flies open, but the young dwarf is disappointed to see it is only Hagar. He is then stunned to see a tall, stern faced elf follow his fellow death collector into the large tent. 

‘Let ‘em see ‘em.’ Puffs Hagar. He feels as if he is going to drop from exhaustion at any second. 

Thranduil glides over to where the young, blonde dwarf lies on the bodies of the other dead dwarves. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Thranduil slowly reaches out his hand to ever so gently place his hand on the blood stained cheek. 

At the touch, the eyelids flutter open and blue eyes look lock onto pale grey ones. ‘Thranduil?’ A hoarse whisper which sets off a coughing fit that leaves the blonde writhing in pain. 

‘Yes, it is Thranduil, Elven King of the Woodland Realm. What is it that you require of me?’ 

‘Damn…it…Thran….I…Mahal!... this hurts... I….need to ….be healed….quicklike.’ Fili pants out, pausing between almost each word. 

Thranduil’s touch morphs into more of a caress along the cheek and jaw, and a spark of hope flares in his chest. No dwarf alive today would use the name Thran to address him. He swallows hard and dares to ask. . ‘Deathless?’ 

No answer comes from the blonde so the elven king tries again louder. ‘Deathless is that you?’

‘Of course!’ Fili snaps in irritation. The pain from the coughing fit had subsided, and the blonde dwarf is able to answer more clearly. 

Taking several minutes to run his hands over Fili’s body to determine the extent of his injuries, Thranduil cannot help the smile that crosses his face. ‘Why does it seem that you always come back in such broken bodies?’ 

‘Fuck if I know.’ Deathless grumbles. 

Turning to Darin and Hagar, Thranduil quickly lists out the items he will need. The two dwarves are too dumbfounded to argue and leave to gather the several items. 

Thranduil gives them one last instruction before they disappear through the tent flap. ‘Do not on any account let that damn wizard in here.’ 

The pair of Iron Hills dwarves nod and are gone. 

 

Meanwhile, back in the dwarven, healing tent, another couple of death collectors burst in to immediately announce that the blonde Durin prince Fili had been found and miraculously is not dead. 

Dwalin, who had seen the lad stabbed and fall to his death is not amused by what he thinks is a sick Iron Hills prank. He roughly jerks the closest death collector off his feet and shakes him hard. 

‘Do you think it’s funny that a fine prince, a prince who fell LONG before his time, who would have made a GRAND king, is dead?’ He snarls. 

The large warrior’s nerves are frayed behind measure now that the fighting is over and the monumental clean up is beginning. It could also be he is eaten up with guilt and regret over not going to retrieve Fili’s body immediately after he, Thorin, and Kili had defeated Azog. He had just been so overjoyed when they had finally slain that monster and then completely awestruck when the eagles had descended on the battle field. Talk about Deus ex machina! Those eagles certainly do come at the most opportune moments, if albeit, at the last damn second to save the day. 

Dwalin’s gut rolls with guilt. He knows what orcs, wargs, and scavenging birds will do to a body left on the field to rot. He and the rest of the company had simply forgotten all about the handsome, cocksure, young prince. They had been too happy in their victory to remember him or his sacrifice. 

The death collector stares, mouth agog, and jaw slack for a moment, before he snaps out of his stupor and repeats slowly and firmly. ‘Prince Fili is ALIVE. We were going to move him, but he is too injured. I’ve come to fetch some healers and a litter to transport him.’

Dwalin growls menacingly at the cheek of this Iron Hills pup. Bifur and Bofur had come in and heard what was said. They had not seen Fili’s death, but had heard about it from Bilbo. They exchange a quick glance and leap into action. Grabbing a filthy, blood-soaked litter, they race out of the healing tent. 

Dwalin rolls his eyes, but he drops the other dwarf and jogs after the cousins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am finished with my other fic, so updates will be coming more regularly with this one now. I hope that comes as good news.


	6. What do you make of all THAT?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur, Bifur, and Dwalin realize that the dwarf they find in the death tent looks like Fili, but he does not act or sound like the good natured dwarven prince that they remember.

Dwalin catches up to the cousins. Bifur is now without the axe blade that has resided in his in cranium and frontal lobe for almost ten decades, and the gaping hole in his hole in his skull is disconcerting to say the least, but he does not seem to be worse for wear without the hunk of metal imbedded is his head. Bofur has, against all odds, somehow managed to keep his hat and his smile through the bloody battle. 

‘It is a prank…a sick joke. NO WAY the lad survived.’ Dwalin mutters as the trio slips and slides through the mud, blood and the other detritus left strewn about the ground after a battle. 

‘Best to take a look anyway. Probably is not even Fili, but if there is an injured dwarf in the death tent, then best to get him out of there, yeah?’ Bofur chirps. 

Dwalin rolls his eyes as the miner’s good humor and kind nature seem to remain untouched by the carnage surrounding him. 

‘Need to check. Be sure.’ Bifur growls out, his voice harsh and hoarse from years of disuse. 

Dwalin clamps his jaw shut and simply follows along behind. When the three finally make it to the death tent, they see two dwarves standing outside the tent flaps as if on guard. They do not move aside to allow Dwalin and the Ur cousins entry. 

‘What the fuck are you two doing?’ Dwalin demands, his temper is fraying more by the second and his fingers itch to snatch Grasper and Keeper from his back. 

‘Uh…the elf said NO ONE is to enter.’ 

‘ELF?! What fucking ELF!?’ Dwalin sputters in fury and Grasper comes sliding out of his dorsal axe holder as if by its own accord.

Hagar is dog tired and more than a little upset that these fuckwits from Ered Luin had 1.started a damn war between elves, men, and dwarves in first fucking place. A war the dwarves of the Iron Hills had NO reason to be in aside that their lord, Lord Dain, had decided to come to Thorin’s aid 2. That is was the he and his kin that had done the fighting, bleeding, and dying in defense of this damn mountain and the treasure within, but will they get a single piece of it? Unlikely. 3. Now one of these assholes, the large warrior dwarf and self appointed body guard to King Thorin, Dwalin, is brandishing his axe about under his nose? Fuck this shit, Hagar thinks and pushes Dwalin’s axe out of his face. 

‘Fuck you, Dwalin. The little lad didn’t ask for YOU, did he? ‘ Not waiting for a reply, but seeing that his words had hit their mark, Hagar continues. ‘No, he did NOT. Not for you nor his fuckwit of an uncle, Thorin, either! The first and only one he asked for was the elven king of the Woodland Realm so take your axe and shove it up your hairy arse.’ 

‘Now, now, there is no need to be rude or hasty.’ Darin interjects quickly when he had seen the pain on Dwalin’s face morph into pure, shaking rage. ‘Hagar, you should apologize for being rude, but the prince DID ask for the elven king, by name. I swear on my beard.’ Darin places his right solemnly on his wiry, red beard. 

Dwalin is speechless with rage and pain from the guilt searing his gut. It is Bifur who steps between Dwalin and Hagar. 

‘Sure it IS Prince Fili?’ 

‘Young, blonde dwarf with a braided moustache, found at the base of Ravenhill, limbs akimbo. How many dwarves could possibly fit that description?’ Darin asks. 

Dwalin steps back, shocked and shaken. He looks over to Bifur and Bofur helplessly. 

‘Ah…let’s wait out here a bit, yeah? Bofur asks, glancing at his cousin and Dwalin. ‘IF it is Fili and IF he is alive, then I suppose we can abide by his wishes for a little while longer?’ Bifur nods and sits down. Dwalin sinks down next to him and Bofur, ever cheerful, plunks down next to them both to wait.

An hour or two passes without further incident, and Thranduil sticks his head out of the tent flap. ‘He is stable enough to be moved.’ He beckons for the litter, but his mouth twists in distaste at its state of uncleanliness once his eyes land on it. 

‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’ Bofur chirps and he pushes past the scowling elf with the disgusting litter. He and Bifur enter the tent. Dwalin cannot bring himself to follow them, too afraid of what he’ll find. On one hand hoping it is Fili, one the other praying it is not. What will he say to the lad? 

Dwalin’s heart sinks when he hears Bofur shout of joy. ‘Lad! We had heard …’

‘Shut up.’ It is Fili’s voice, no doubt about that, but the tone and words are decidedly not Fili-like. ‘Thran, can we get someone else? Anyone else?’ He calls out to Thranduil who is still standing outside the tent. Hagar and Darin refuse to budge. They have had enough for one night. Thranduil gazes down at Dwalin as the tattooed dwarf had begun to shake his head when he heard Fili’s voice. Dwalin looks up to lock eyes with the tall elf. 

‘He died…he died. I’m SURE of it.’ He whispers. 

‘Yes, he did, but Deathless has returned. For a time at least.’ 

‘For as long as it will take.’ Fili grunts as he is carried past the unlikely pair attempts to stare each other down just outside the tent flap. ‘Make sure these two take me to the right place, yeah?’ 

‘Follow me.’ Thranduil instructs in his imperious tone and strides back towards where his army is bivouacked and to his own tent. 

Bofur glances back at Bifur, who only shrugs. Dwalin watches them go for a moment, then snatches up Grasper from where he had dropped it hours earlier and follows. Hagar and Darin both heave a huge sigh of relief as they watch the elf lead the dwarves away from the death tent. 

‘What do you make of all THAT?’ Darin asks the older dwarf. 

‘Dunno, but I image there will be hell to pay before it is all said and done.’ Hagar answers wearily.


	7. We need to tell Thorin!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elven healers work on Fili. Dwalin, Bofur, and Bifur return to Erebor inform Thorin of Fili's condition.

As the unlikely entourage makes it through the elven encampment, Thranduil motions for two sets of elven healers to follow him. Bofur and Bifur stand by quietly as the elven healers move to transfer the blonde dwarf from the litter to a cot within Thranduil’s tent. Dwalin scowls deeply but also remains silent for the time being. The dwarven trio remains in the far corner of the tent. 

Thranduil gives the wounded dwarf a healthy dose of milk of the poppy before the two teams of healers set to work. One set elven healers immediately begins to splint Fili’s shattered legs and coaxing his arms back into their sockets, while the other set goes about closing the wide, gaping wound on his right side. A great deal of silk thread is used before it is finally over. 

Once the final stitch is placed and the knot tied off and cut, Dwalin pushes off from the tent support he had been leaning against for the last hour. ‘Right, then, we’ll be taking him to Erebor now.’ 

‘Hardly.’ Thranduil answers simply from his position by Fili’s cot where he had sat the entire time.

‘I’m not in the mood for anymore horseshit, elf. He is a prince of Durin and he belongs in Erebor.’ 

‘He IS Durin. ‘ 

Bofur stares at the elven king. He asks uneasily. ‘What do you mean by that?’ 

‘He is Durin, Durin the Deathless, returned by Mahal himself.’ 

Bifur touches his cousin on the shoulder and signs. (Return to Erebor. Tell King.) Bofur sighs and eventually nods. ‘Not much sense moving him now, is there? He will sleep for hours yet.’ 

Dwalin opens his mouth to protest, but Bifur signs again. (Tell King. NOW.)

 

‘Alright.’ He mutters and they file out to of the tent. ‘We’ll be back. WITH Thorin.’ 

‘Lovely. ‘ Thranduil deadpans. 

 

Balin and Lord Dain are the first dwarves the trio sees when they reach gates of Erebor. The two cousins are standing at the ramparts. 

‘Hale, brother!’ 

‘We have news from the battlefield.’ Dwalin does not mince words. ‘There is news that we need to get to Thorin immediately.’ Bofur and Bifur remain mute behind Dwalin. 

‘Mahal, not other imminent orc attack I hope!’ Balin breathes in dismay. 

‘Nay, but…it’s….you see….they found Fili.’

‘Oh, I see. ‘ Balin says sadly. ‘We will return him to stone…’

‘He’s alive.’ Bifur blurts out loudly.

‘Pardon?’ Balin asks surprised. He is still getting used to Bifur speaking again. The white haired dwarf is certain Bifur had just misspoken or used an incorrect word.

‘Aye, the lad is alive.’ Bofur says smiling. ‘ Acting a bit strangely ,mind, but alive.’ He qualifies. 

‘Where the hell is he?’ Dain demands stunned. 

‘Ah…well….Thranduil’s tent. Kind of.’ Bofur supplies. 

‘Thranduil’s tent?’ Balin asks.

‘You left him with that woodland sprite?’ Dain is outraged. 

‘Peace, Dain, let them speak.’ 

‘Aye, he is recuperating in Thranduil’s tent, but he is different... ’ Dwalin grinds out. 

Balin cuts his brother off. 'Mahal! We need to inform Thorin!’ 


	8. Set things to right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has some bad news for Durin the Deathless.

Dwalin stays Balin before the gleeful dwarf can race off to tell Thorin of his nephew’s survival. Dain also remains to watch Dwalin caution his brother. 

‘Wait, Balin…that damn elf says…claims Fili is not Fili.’ 

‘Confound it all! What does that mean? ‘

Bofur pipes up. ‘That he is Durin returned.’

‘As Durin the Deathless?’ Balin asks incredulous. 

Dain snorts in disbelief. ‘What the fuck would that woodland fairy know about Durin the Deathless? He is just trying to yank Thorin’s chain.’

‘Dunno, Dain, but…’Dwalin hedges.

‘Bullshit. Let’s tell Thorin first and then go get the lad out of there.’ 

At that pronouncement the dwarves quietly make their way to Thorin’s chamber. They find the king slumped over and fast asleep. Balin quickly comes to the decision that there is no good to be done until the morning when Thorin would be awake and hopefully, somewhat, rested and refreshed. They ease him up and into the bed next to his brunette nephew. Thorin is so exhausted he does not stir as they manhandle him into what passes for a comfortable position. 

Dwalin and Dain post guards with instructions that they are to be summoned at once when the King awakes. Bofur and Bifur are asked to not breathe a word to anyone of all what has transpired this evening. The two cousins consent only if they are allowed to return to the elven camp in the morning. Balin and Dwalin hastily agree, and watch the dwarves take their leave. 

Once they are gone, Balin turns to Dwalin and Dain. ‘Let’s get some rest, lads. The morrow will come quickly.’ 

 

The morrow does come indeed quickly. Thranduil and the elven healers had spent the night watching over and tending the dwarf in their care. The blonde cracks an eye open to see the pink hues of dawn in the eastern horizon, and he stirs on his cot. Thranduil bids the healers to give he and the dwarf some privacy. 

‘Could I have some water?’ The young dwarf croaks. 

Silently, Thranduil puts a cup of water to his lips and he drinks it down. Lying back Fili looks for Thranduil. ‘I need to get to the mountain.’ 

‘Yes.’ Thranduil answers slowly. ‘Yes, you do. We’d have to carry you on a litter.’ 

‘Damn it all, that is no way to make a grand entrance, but I suppose you are correct. These legs are not going to hold any weight for some time yet.’

‘Deathless, the lad’s legs are the least of your worries. My healers say his liver was sliced in half. It’s not working. Never will again. Despite all the healing powers we have, you only have a several days at most to accomplish what you were sent here to do.’ 

‘Well, that is shit news, Thran.’ 

‘Felt you should know the truth.’ The elf shrugs. 

‘Aye, I appreciate the honesty. So let’s not waste time then, shall we? Get that litter and cart me into Erebor so I can set things to right.’

‘Of course. ‘ Thranduil murmurs and leaves the tent to make the arrangements. 

Durin blows out, frustrated. No time for subtlety and nuance. He will have to convince Thorin Oakenshield and his surviving nephew to abdicate the throne they’ve just reclaimed.


	9. Stone giants were thought to be only legend, too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dain sends a message via a raven. Fili arrives at Erebor's front gate.

Unbeknownst to the sons of Fundin, as soon as Dain had left their company to wait for the dawn, he had rushed to find a raven to send a quickly scrawled note. 

The lord of the Iron Hills sighs deeply. He is decidedly torn. He removes a crumpled message from the inner pocket of his jerkin and scans its contents for a third time. The message is unambiguous and states very clearly what Fili had wished to be done in the event of his death, but now…Fili is not dead. At least if what several members of Thorin’s company have had to say is to be believed. Dain is not familiar with Bofur, but he knows Bifur and trusts Dwalin with his life. He must get word out to a dwarrow desperate for news of Fili’s fate. Dain struggles with what to say, but he finally decides to keep it as simple and straightforward as possible. 

His note reads: Ignore any and all reports of Fili’s death. Come to the Lonely Mountain in all haste. Use the code name we have previously agreed upon. 

Satisfied, Dain seals the note with red wax imprinted with his crest. He sends the raven with strict instructions for the message to be delivered to one and only one dwarf. If that dwarf is not found, then the raven is to return the message immediately. Dain sighs again, hoping he has not made a mistake and awaits the dawn. 

Nori and Gloin are on watch on the ramparts when Fili arrives back to Erebor carried on a litter stretched between four elven riders on horseback. The sun had not yet crested the horizon to shine its rays down on the bloodied battlefield, but Nori is the first to spot the strange entourage as it makes its way slowly up to the shattered front gate of Erebor. Nori can make out what looks to be a four horse team harnessed together with each horse carrying a elven rider, but they are pulling no cart or wagon. Instead a heavy, white linen blanket is affixed at each of its four corners to each horse’s girth. 

‘I’ll be damned…’ The dwarf with the tristar hairdo mutters.

‘What in all of Middle Earth do you think is coming here now? Fuck, is that Thranduil bringing up the rear?’ Gloin grumbles. 

‘Take a good look at the litter, Gloin. See anyone familiar?’ Nori smiles his sharkish grin and runs to fetch Balin and Dwalin and any other members of Thorin’s company. Gloin, whose eyesight is not as sharp as Nori’s does not leave his post. Dain, who had not been asleep, arrives to stand beside Gloin just as Dwalin appears. He throws his cousin a questioning glance. Dwalin interprets the look correctly and answers. 

‘Thorin and Kili have not been distrubed. Surely, the commotion Nori is causing within the mountain will rouse them. ’

Dain grunts and turns his gaze back towards Fili. He can see the hair, the color of autumn wheat. He sends a quick prayer of thanks to Mahal that it does seem like the lad has survived, and he was right to send his message. 

The other members of the company stumble and knock into each other in their haste to peer out at the party approaching. They frown as they can plainly see Thranduil astride a large steed, but murmurs of doubt break into loud, joyful cheers when they see Fili’s blonde hair. The company of Thorin Oakenshield, those dwarves who had set out almost a year ago to reclaim a massive treasure from a dragon, spill out to greet their crown prince. 

One comment from the blonde slightly dampens their celebration. ‘Quite a different reception than the first time I arrived at Erebor, indeed.’ 

‘Ah-well, we were just glad to see Kili had been healed is all.’ Nori tries to explain. His two brothers nod enthusiastically. 

‘Aye, we were simply overcome with joy to see you four alive.’ Gloin cries. 

Fili snorts. ‘Strange, cousin, that is not how I remember it’

At their confused faces, he sighs and continues. ‘I grant you, Gloin, I can understand that your first priority was to see to your brother. Just as Bombur and Bifur’s was to first seek out their kin, but no one, not ONE of you came to embrace me. I was left to bounce behind a group of dwarves hugging and holding one another and not ONE of you turned my way. It was if I was invisible. So, you will have to forgive me, if I doubt the sincerity of your display NOW.’

Confusion gives way to stunned silence. The dwarves stand quietly looking around at each other. Had they really left the crown prince out of their joyous reunion? No one had noticed at the time. Dwalin gives Balin and Dain a knowing look. 

‘What in the blazes!’ Dori finally sputters, aggrieved. ‘It is not like we forgot about you on purpose!’

‘Really, Dori? Because it rather felt like you had. I could only conclude that I am of less importance than some. No matter. I have far bigger problems to sort. Now, hold these mounts.’ 

The dwarves are too gobsmacked to disobey. Once dwarven hands clasp their mounts' bridles, the elven riders dismount, and they go about unhooking Fili’s litter from their girths. Sounding much more like Thorin than himself, Fili then barks out an order to clear the way. Thranduil swings out of his saddle and walks next to the litter carrying the blonde dwarf. 

‘So that is what you meant by different, brother?’ Balin asks in a hushed tone as they follow behind. Dwalin nods grimly. Dain strides beside Dwalin but says nothing. He had not known Fili as well as these two dwarves, but the unsettling feeling as if something was massively amiss swirls in his gut. The other company members having relinquished their duty of holding the elven horses to other dwarves who had gathered around the odd spectacle, rush to catch up. They mutter and mumble amongst each other. 

 

‘Well, Fili is rather injured. Maybe his wounds have put him into such a foul mood?’ Ori pipes up, trying to make sense of his friend’s unusual behavior. 

Bofur cannot hold his tongue and blurts out. ‘The elf said it’s not Fili. It’s Durin.’ 

Another shocked silence runs through the company. 

‘Do you think that’s possible?’ Dain asks bluntly, looking at each of the drawn faces. 

‘Only legend says that Durin has ever returned a slain leader’s body to the living.’ Balin argues firmly. 

‘Stone giants were thought to only be legend, too.’ Bifur says quietly.


	10. Reckon your elf saved your brother, too?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin tries to comfort Kili.

The quietly stated observation by Bifur shuts up all the dwarves, and they are left to mull over their individual thoughts and feelings as they file behind the elves toting Fili. 

Meanwhile, back in the royal chambers, Kili awakens. He can feel the weight and heat of someone lying next to him. His heart leaps, thinking Tauriel had somehow managed to infiltrate Erebor to be by his side. The young dwarf’s hopes are dashed quickly when he opens his eyes to see that it is not the red haired elf maid, but his uncle lying next to him. He sighs in disappointment. 

Kili brushes the stray strands of hair from Thorin’s face. The dark haired prince can see the tracks of tears through the dirt and grim on his uncle’s sleeping face. It jarringly brings back the memories of the battle. The images in his mind’s eye crash back down into his brain. Fili…flat on his back in the snow, huge wound gaping open. Blood, Fili’s blood, red and running in rivers onto the whiteness beneath him. Fili. Limbs splayed at unimaginable angles, eyes open…dead eyes…Fili, oh brother! No, no, noooooo! 

Kili flails in his pain and grief rousing Thorin from his heavy slumber. He clutches at his young sister son. Thorin knows this scene must be very reminiscent of himself and his own father, Thrain, after the Battle of Moria. Thorin trying desperately to get the sights and sounds of his Frerin’s death out of his mind while his father attempted to comfort him. For several minutes Kili tries to fight him just as he had against Thrain. 

Murmuring sounds of comfort, words are meaningless in this context, Thorin uses the deep rumble of his baritone to make soothing sounds as a mother bear would to a wounded cub. He holds Kili tightly in his arms to keep the lad from striking him. He murmurs. He pats. He holds. He rocks. 

Kili finally slumps, his energy and angst drained for the moment. Uncle and nephew cry in each other’s arms for their lost kin. 

‘What am I going to do without him, uncle?’ Kili croaks, desperate for Thorin to make it better, to make the pain go away. 

‘Live, lad. All you can do is live. Your brother would want that.’ 

‘HOW do I live when he’s dead? He’s dead because of me…if I hadn’t left him…’

‘No!’ Thorin cuts Kili off sharply. ‘Do not think like that, Kili! You would have died with him and your brother acted in a way to….’ Here Thorin chokes on the guilt and bile rising in his throat. ‘He acted in a way to ensure that you would be safe. And that you would live. We must honor that, lad. It is the ONLY thing we can do.’ 

‘I don’t know if I want to live if he’s dead.’ Kili moans.

‘I understand, I do. I felt the same after Frerin’s death.’ 

‘But you were always meant to be king one day!’ Kili shouts angrily. ‘Just like Fili…I never was…Frerin never was.’ Kili starts to cry as he shouts. ‘I don’t want it…I can’t BE king. I can’t be Fili. I can’t be you. I don’t want to be you.’ 

Thorin is stunned. This is the nephew he thought of and treated as a beloved nephew or son. Thorin had had a soft spot for the boy since he was but a dwarfling. He and Kili had long shared a close but informal and carefree relationship. It was evident in the way he interacted with the lad, how he spoke to him, took special care to ensure his safety during the quest and long before. In the way Kili felt safe to voice his borderline insubordination and entitled to argue and confront his uncle, because Thorin had always been a beloved uncle first and foremost. 

With his eldest sister son, it had been different. With Fili, he had only been a stern teacher and master. Their relationship had been stiff and formal. There had never been time for a casual arm slung around the shoulder. No conspiratorial chatter or simple relaxation. With Fili, Thorin had only been a king with the task of molding the next generation to take up the throne one day. Now the lad he had taught since dwarflinghood to be the next king is dead and his brother is rejecting the idea out of hand of stepping into his place as his heir? 

‘You will feel differently in time…’ Thorin tries to sooth the distressed youth. 

‘NO! NO, I WON’T! I don’t want to be king. I NEVER want to be king. I want to marry Tauriel and live happily ever after.’ 

‘Wha…What in Mahal’s bloody beard are you going on about?’ Thorin demands, flummoxed. 

‘I am in love with Tauriel and she with me. We want to be together. We have to be together. I can’t give her up. I won’t.’ Kili says and crosses his arms over his chest mutinously. 

Thorin truly feels like he is swimming out of his depth with the turn this conversation has taken. What is the lad bleating about? Who or what is a Tauriel?

‘She’s an elf. Before you start in…save it. I already got a lecture from Fili. He said I had no business being twitterpated with an elf. Like he would know anything about being in love.’ Kili shakes his head angrily. 

‘An elf?’ Thorin echoes. If he was out of depth before, he is drowning now. ‘When would you have had a chance to fall in love with an elf?’ 

‘Met her in Mirkwood AND she came to save me. Twice.’ Kili confirms, resolute, holding up two fingers.

He should not have, but he does; he laughs. The idea is too absurd. Not the idea that Kili could fall in love with an elf is necessarily absurd. The boy certainly had always walked to the beat of a different drummer, but when could the lad have had the time to do so? 

The hurt look that crosses his nephew’s face is hard to bear, but not a bad as the fierce anger that quickly follows it. Pushing himself from his uncle’s embrace, Kili stumbles away and yanks the door open. 

‘You know NOTHING of love!’ Kili snarls, his words almost an exact echo of Thorin's when his uncle had admonished him and Fili over their teasing of Bilbo about orcs. 

‘Fili knew nothing of love either, but at least he didn’t laugh at me.’ Kili throws over his shoulder at his uncle as he steps from the chamber into the corridor. A loud noise can be heard below them in the great hall. 

‘What is going on?’ Kili snaps at one of the remaining guards. When shouting had been heard inside the chamber, two of the posted guards had departed to inform Dwalin and Dain. The remaining two had heard the commotion down below. Wide-eyed one responds to his prince’s question.

‘I’m not entirely sure, but from what I’ve overheard, it seems like your brother is alive and has been returned to the mountain by elves.’ 

Kili’s mouth gapes like a fish’s. As Thorin swiftly brushes past his nephew, he mutters. 'Reckon your elf saved your brother, too?’


	11. So Fili was a reincarnation of Durin all along?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deathless reveals who he is and why he has returned.

He is still in pain, but the milky white liquid Thranduil has provided has taken the edge off the pain. He is a dwarf, cut from stone, he can endure. He must. 

Being toted into Erebor on a litter severely wounds his pride, but he knows that his time in this body will be short, so be it. Unlike the lad whose body he has reclaimed, he knows these halls just as well as Thorin or Balin. 

‘Take me up the stairs to Thror’s informal receiving chamber. It is small, but big enough for our purposes. Hopefully, it does not stink of dragon as this place does.’ 

The elves carrying him are at a loss, until he directs them. Balin had heard the command and is shocked. The blonde prince Fili, born leagues and leagues away to the west in the Blue Mountains, would never have known of the existence, much less the location, of Thror’s informal receiving chamber. It is a literally a hole carved into one side of the mountain, not far from the where he and Thorin and most of the company had entered through the hidden door only weeks earlier on Durin’s Day. 

Fili points the way without hesitation, directly to the chamber. If one was not familiar with its location, most would miss the door entirely as it simply looks like the surrounding stone. Thranduil runs his hand over the stone and can feel the slightest hint of a line in the rock. He pushes and a heavy door swings inward. 

Balin looks over his shoulder at Oin. Being a distant cousin to King Thror just as himself, Oin is the only other dwarf in the company, save Thorin, who would have known of this secret door and the comfortable chamber within. Oin shrugs, but there is worry written all over his face.

Dwalin and Gloin were too young to have ever been invited into Thror’s preferred hideaway within the mountain prior to Smaug’s arrival. Bifur and Dori are not even distantly related to the royal family and would have no knowledge of the chamber’s existence at all. 

Thranduil lifts Fili as gently as he can off the litter and onto a low chaise lounge. The dwarves can hear Fili grit his teeth to keep from crying out. 

‘Do you need more poppy milk?’ Thranduil asks quietly. 

‘Nay, it is just the jostling of so many broken bones. It will pass. I don’t need my mind dulled any further.’ 

Thranduil inclines his head in acquiescence and steps to the side. He quietly directs his elven guards to the leave and wait for him outside the mountain. He knows what will transpire in this room will be between the dwarves alone. 

Thorin races down the stone staircases and through the archways carved out of the mountain rock. His logical mind says it is not possible, but his heart aches for it to be true- that somehow Fili survived. His heir survived! 

The new King Under the Mountain had caught a glimpse of the members of the company trailing along a passageway. He follows as fast as he can. Thorin is surprised to come to his grandfather’s secret receiving chamber. This room had been Thror’s favorite place to relax with friends and kin. He freezes when he sees four stern faced elves leave and head in the other direction. 

Waiting for several moments, Thorin eases closer. He can see the braziers within the room have been lit. He slips inside, but freezes in the doorway arch. He can see the backs of his company and of Dain as they stand in a semi-circle facing away from the door. Straightening his spine, Thorin strides up and pushes his way through the throng. He stops stock still and locks eyes with his eldest sister son. 

It is not dissimilar to the last time they had seen each other, across a frozen expanse, Fili in the hands of Azog on Ravenhill and Thorin, helpless, across the frozen river on other rocky peak, staring at one another. Just as then, Thorin is beyond words.

It is pattern he and Fili had fallen into ever since the blonde was but a child. Unlike with his younger nephew, Thorin often found himself tongue tied when trying to communicate with Fili. More times than not, whatever thought or feeling needed to be conveyed was done through a simple exchange of direct eye contact with the boy. A look was followed by a nod of the head to indicate that whatever message had been received and understood. 

It had started long ago when Thorin had come to tell the lad about his father’s death. Thorin had found himself unable to say the words, any words, but had just stared down intently at the little lad. The boy had gazed fixedly back at the tall, dark headed stranger scowling down at him, then nodded his head and turned away. The dye had been cast that day and their rather stilted relationship and means of communication had continued to the day Fili died. 

Deathless is the first to speak. ‘Thorin…good of you to join us. There are issues to be settled.’ 

Hearing Fili’s voice, breaks his uncle of the spell tying his tongue and the words rush out. ‘Oh lad…oh Fili! You are alive! I can’t believe it….Your brother will be overjoyed! I am overjoyed to see you hale and hearty. ’ He takes a tentative step towards Fili, but the blonde stays him.

‘I am hardly hale and hearty, Thorin.’ 

Thorin’s head snaps back as if slapped. 

‘This is not a happy reunion and I am NOT Fili. ’ Deathless continues. ‘I am Durin. I have been sent back by Mahal himself to right a wrong and set the dwarves back on the right track, but I don’t have much time.’ 

Thorin sways slightly, and Dwalin is instantly by his side, steadying his king. 

The blonde dwarf sighs heavily. ‘I know it is hard to take in, but this little lad…’He gestures down at his own person. ‘This lad died on Ravenhill, I have come back to inhabit his body. He was supposed to survive this battle. You were not.‘ 

Thorin narrows his eyes. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’ He demands. 

‘Mahal considers you unfit to rule a kingdom such as this, Thorin.’ Deathless replies casually. 

Thorin sags to the floor, and the other dwarves voice their protests in his defense loudly. 

‘Silence!’ Deathless thunders. ‘Mahal had seen the way Thror fell to gold sickness, letting the love of gold overcome all else, and the good dwarves of Erebor did NOTHING. Thror turned his back on old alliances over petty and perceived slights.’ Here Deathless gestures to Thranduil. ‘To what end? Dragon fire and destruction.’

Blowing out hard through his nostrils, Deathless continues in a low growl, looking to each and every face in the room. ‘ When Thror had set his sights on reclaiming Khazad dum from the orcs, Mahal had envisioned sending me back to inhibit his body after that battle, but how does one return a headless corpse to life? 

‘The same with Thrain…when he disappeared, it was not due to grief or madness. Nay, he had been captured by orcs and dragged to the deepest dungeons of Dol Guldor where his dwarven ring of power was cut from his finger, and he was tortured to the point of where he could no longer remember his own name.’

Deathless shakes his head in anger and glares at Thorin. ‘Did it not occur to you to ASK that blasted wizard WHERE he had gotten that key and map? Do you think Thrain just GAVE it to him?’

All the dwarves are silent. Honestly, they had not wanted to know where Gandalf had gotten the map and key. He had it and was willing to help them reclaim Erebor. They had not wanted to know any further details. They had asked no questions and the wizard had provided no answers. 

‘Did it not give you pause to consider WHY the wizard was so keen on helping you, where he had never offered the dwarves assistance of any kind before? How could you not see it was only to further his own agenda? Because you were too blinded by desire to see your gold returned. The grey wizard’s only concern with the strategic position of this mountain and wanted to see it in the hands of a somewhat more favorable ally than a dragon.’ 

Deathless leans back and groans in pain from the exertion of speaking so forcefully. Closing his eyes, he says softly. ‘Mahal saw in you, Thorin, one capable enough and daring enough to reclaim this mountain, but that your reasons for doing so were tainted. You did not care that the life the dwarves had built in the Blue Mountains was one of peace and plenty; you wanted the riches held within Erebor. He saw plainly that you were not one to lead the dwarves into the future. You are too stubborn, too prideful, and too blind to your own faults. The blonde was always the next Durin, you just never realized it. Any of you.’ Here he opens his eyes are stares down each dwarf present. 

Surprisingly,it is Ori, who first recovers the capacity for speech and asks. ‘So Fili was a reincarnation of Durin all along?’ 

For the first time, a ghost of a smile crosses Deathless’s face. 'Aye, he was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea of how Thorin and Fili communicate from watching the movies. They are rarely seen talking to one another, but there are a few scenes where they exchange a look, but no words, i.e. in Bag End around the table- Fili obivoulsy is looking at Thorin after his 'to the last dwarf' comment and there is some unsaid exchange between the two, after the stone giant fell- Thorin does not say anything to Fili, but is clearly relieved to see him not dead, at Beorn's, and then when Fili is being held aloft on Ravenhill.


	12. My friends call me Deathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Gandalf enter the scene. So does Kili. Dain drops a bombshell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter A LOT. I must have started it seven times, going in seven different directions and was not happy with any of them. I am still not entirely happy with this chapter, but I have to move the story forward, so here it is.

Several of the dwarves had just taken up a hue and cry of protest at such an absurd assertion of Fili being Durin the Deathless incarnate, when the halfing and the wizard, Gandalf, enter the room.

‘Lovely…simply referring to him must summon the old meddler.’ Thranduil grumbles under his breath. 

Deathless glares at the grey wizard with a fierce, penetrating gaze. His expression softens when his eyes turn to Bilbo. ‘It is good to see you alive and whole, Mr. Baggins. Thank you for all the service you have done for the dwarves this day and for the months prior.’

‘Uhm…Fili? My word!’ Bilbo cries and rushes towards the blonde. ‘How can it be?! Oh, I don’t care how! I am just so glad to see you alive! You don’t know how glad! You just DO NOT know!’ The hobbit babbles, tears of joy running down his face. Once he gets to the dwarf he assumes to be Fili, Bilbo is nonplussed as to how to embrace the badly wounded dwarf so he settles for just tightly clasping the blonde’s hand. 

Gandalf is decidedly less pleased and studies the blonde dwarf from under his saggy brows. 

‘Says he is Durin, Durin the Deathless.’ Gloin snorts waving a hand dismissively in the blonde dwarf’s direction, to fill in the wizard. 

‘I see.’ Gandalf says slowly, watching the blonde carefully and taking note of the presence of Thranduil by the dwarf’s side. 

‘He says Fili was always meant to be the next Durin.’ Ori pipes up helpfully. 

‘I see,’ Gandalf repeats. 

‘Now hang on a damn minute!’ Roars Gloin. The fiery red haired dwarf is outraged on behalf of his king, his cousin,Thorin Oakenshield. ‘So you want us to just swallow down that Thorin is UNFIT because HE says so?! That he is Durin, and I suppose, that would make HIM King Under the Bloody Damn Mountain? Just like that?’ Gloin snaps his fingers to demonstrate his point. ‘Well think again, Fili . Think A-GAIN.’ He finishes firmly. 

Bilbo looks back and forth from Gloin to the blonde and back again. Confusion written all over his face.

‘Fili is dead, Gloin, and so will I within a week, so NO, I will NOT become King Under the Mountain.’ Deathless growls, irritated. Well, that pronouncement shuts the dwarves up right quick and causes the hobbit’s face to twist in horror.

Thranduil interjects with an explanation when it seems like Deathless will not provide one. ‘His hepatic artery was completely severed. His liver is dead and cannot function. My healers estimate he has a week or less to live.’ 

Oin, mulling over Thranduil’s words, nods. ‘That would be about right, a week, maybe five days of lucidity before one would lose consciousness and fall into a coma. Death would soon follow.’ 

‘So…’ Deathless says tiredly. ‘I will NOT become the new King Under the Mountain, but one day, Fili’s son will. ’ 

‘Uh…you plan on siring a child in a week’s time?’ Bofur pipes up. ‘That is rather optimistic of you, isn’t it?’ 

‘SILENCE!’ Bellows Gandalf, lifting his staff high. Bilbo quakes a bit at Fili’s side and clutches his hand all the tighter. The blonde smiles weakly at the hobbit and pats the hand covering his own. 

‘All will be well.’ The dwarf whispers to the hobbit to reassure him.

‘So…’ Gandalf begins. ‘It really is you then, Durin?’ 

‘Aye.’ 

Gandalf blows out a long breath and nods. ‘I had thought of that possibility when I first met Fili’. 

‘You AGREE with him?’ Gloin asks astonished. 

‘Hang on a minute…what about this business of Fili’s son?’ Bofur interrupts. 

Deathless’s eyes slip closed. His energy is drained for the moment. He waves his hand in Dain’s direction and casually orders. ‘Tell them.’ 

‘Uh…ah…’ Dain hedges and then remembers the short message in his breast pocket. He reaches in and pulls it out. He fiddles with it. ‘Well, the lad, Fili, I mean,…. he did sire a child, a son. Born in the Iron Hills almost three years ago.’ 

All the dwarves of Ered Luin stare open mouthed in shock, gobsmacked, at the lord of the Iron Hills. Gloin opens his mouth, but Dain cuts him off. 

‘Before you bite my head off, Gloin. This is a message Fili sent me that arrived just before we took the field at the foot of the Lonely Mountain.’ Dain waves the tattered piece of parchment. Gloin snatches it from his cousin’s paw and studies it. 

Gloin’s face twists into a grimace as he reads. It is a short note, but he rereads several times to ensure he had understood the message thoroughly. He sighs heavily and shoves it towards Balin for inspection. The other dwarves gather round the short dwarf to peer over his shoulder to get a look at the paper themselves. 

After reading it over once, Balin huffs out a breath and looks down to see Thorin, who is still sitting slumped on the floor in a very unkinglike manner, staring fixedly at the figure on the chaise lounge. Balin knows this knowledge will be even more unwelcome and hurtful to his old friend and king. 

‘Read it.’ Thorin orders in a blank tone. When Balin hesitates, Thorin repeats. ‘Just read it, Balin.’ 

Balin clears his throat and proceeds.  
‘Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills,  
The elves of Mirkwood and the men of Laketown mean to take the Lonely Mountain by force. In the event of my death, I beg you to ensure that my beloved and our son remain safe and hidden in the Iron Hills. Should either my uncle or brother survive, do NOT tell them of my family. I would not see my son live the life I have had. Please use my share of the treasure to see that they are provided for. I thank you in advance. 

Faithfully at your service,  
Fili, son of Dis. ‘

 

Thorin’s eyes squeeze. He cannot believe what he is hearing. His heir had kept secrets from him? Huge secrets. What would have prompted FIli to do so? The thought of Fili acting the way he did to as a means of protecting his family from his own kin to almost too much to bear.

 

‘Uhmmm…’ Balin begins slowly, studying Thorin’s anguished face. The other dwarves gaze down at their boots, uncomfortable and embarrassed. ‘It’s obviously Fili’s handwriting, written in a hurried hand, but it is his. Dain, what do you know of this?’ He waves the paper. 

Before the lord of the Iron Hills can answer, a strangled sound is heard from the doorway. All eyes turn to see a wild eyed Kili with his wild hair mussed and framing his handsome face. 

‘Uncle…?’ He whimpers. ‘What’s going on?’ 

‘Come here, lad.’ Thorin chokes out, holding out his arms for his beloved nephew, and Kili flies into his uncle’s embrace and buries his head into the uncle’s neck. The other dwarves surround their king and his nephew in a show of affection and support. 

A wan smile comes to Deathless’s face. Bilbo pats his hand comfortingly. It had not been lost on the hobbit that during the quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain that he and Fili had often been in this same exact position- on the outside of a ring of support and solidarity, being decidedly excluded from it. Himself, he could understand. He is not a dwarf, he is an outsider, but why Fili? Bilbo had not understood at the time, and he does not understand it now. 

‘Not to worry, Mr. Baggins. It’s the hair. An old prejudice, but one still engrained in Ereborian dwarves. They don’t even seem to be cognitive that they are doing it.’ Deathless whispers. Bilbo opens his mouth to speak, but Deathless continues. ‘Fili was grateful for your friendship during the quest. Very grateful. ‘

‘So…how does this whole business work? And what do I call you now? Fili? Durin?’

‘My friends call me Deathless.’

‘Deathless it is then.’ Bilbo says, smiling. ‘How do you know what happened during the quest?’

‘When I reclaim a fallen dwarf’s body, I have his brain, all his memories, all his emotions he felt at the time those memories were being made, the whole lot.’ 

Their quiet side conversation is interrupted by Kili. The young dwarf had disentangled himself from his kin and is approaching the pair. 

‘Fili?’ Kili whispers, uncertain. 

‘No, lad. Sorry, but your brother is dead and his spirit in the Halls of Waiting. He did love you very much. His very last thought was that you would live, and he had fulfilled his promise to your uncle to ensure your safety.’ 

Kili chokes out a sob and sinks down next to Bilbo. He looks up imploringly from the blonde to Thorin. ‘No, that can’t be true.’ The dark haired prince shuffles closer to the blonde, afraid to touch him. ‘Please let that not be true.’ He begs. 

‘Your brother went to his death, and he went willingly. Is that not what your uncle had taught you both?’ 

Kili shakes his head, bewildered. Thorin looks down at his scarred and bloody hands and thinks no, it is not what he had taught them both. It was a lesson he had only given to Fili.


	13. Your brother may be dead, but his son is not.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Kili are made to hear something unwelcome from Bilbo and Deathless. It is too late for them to make it up to Fili, but what about Fili's child?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not particularly happy with this chapter, but I felt I had to update to move the story along.

Thorin Oakenshield studies the large signet ring on his right hand. He wonders how many other lessons he had taught only to his elder sister-son and had neglected to impart on the younger? 

As if reading the king’s mind, the blonde dwarf answers the very question spinning in Thorin’s mind. 

‘That is rhetorical.’ Deathless sighs and slumps back on the chaise lounge. 

Because Durin has access to all the memories of the lad whose body he now occupies, he well knows that Thorin had not sought to actively teach the younger prince much aside from skill with a bow. What Thorin had taught in a passive manner was much more apparent. One only had to observe the general obtuseness and the casual air of entitlement with which Kili viewed the world around him to see that he had rarely been given correction for unacceptable behavior or to consider of a situation from anything other than his own point of view. 

Durin thinks wryly as Bilbo clasps his right hand tightly. He knows the reason behind Fili’s dexterity with both hands is rooted in a particularly swift and brutal lesson that Thorin had never given the younger brother, the lesson about consequences of arguing with his uncle or defying his orders. 

‘I tried to ensure that Fili would be ready to take up the mantle of king.’ Thorin speaks to his hands. 

Deathless snorts dismissively. ‘I have the lad’s memories…ALL of them, along with the thoughts and emotions he felt at the time. Trust me, what you overwhelming succeeded in teaching him, was that he was unworthy.’ 

Kili shakes his head violently and mutters. ‘That is not true.’ 

Thorin opens his mouth to argue with Deathless when he notices the hobbit’s reaction. 

‘What say you, Bilbo? Fili did not think that, did he?’ 

Bilbo hates to hear the pleading tone in Thorin’s voice. On one hand Bilbo wants to reassure the grieving uncle in Thorin, but he remembers that Thorin did not treat Fili as a nephew. In fact, the hobbit had been shocked to learn the blonde was any relation to the stern, older dwarf or the young archer at all. 

‘How could he NOT think it?’ Bilbo responds, saying the words softly, but they hit Thorin with the weight of a warhammer. 

Kili leaps to his feet and lurches towards the hobbit. ‘How dare you say that! How DARE you! My brother was everything to me!’ Kili’s dark eyes flash, and his face is a mask of fury. The other dwarves murmur their agreement with the young dwarf’s assertion. 

Bilbo Baggins is not the quiet hobbit who left his comfortable and beloved home almost a year prior. That hobbit would have quaked in the face of such a verbal and physical onslaught, but not the Bilbo of today. He stands, hands on hips and chin lifted. 

‘Are you joking? Seriously, you must be JOKING, right? That is rich coming from you.’ Bilbo sniffs. He glances around to the other members of the company. ‘ANY of you.’

Bilbo is satisfied to see some of the dwarves have the decency to look abashed, but Kili’s brows lower menacingly in baldfaced anger. 

Bilbo is not cowed by Kili’s death glare. ‘Name me one time during that blasted quest did you show an ounce of concern for your brother? Give him a single gesture of comfort or support? Even say his name? ‘

Kili’s face crumples in horror. ‘I loved my brother.’ 

‘Really? Because I certainly could not tell.’ Bilbo retorts. ‘You say that now, but during the quest, when your brother was in danger, what did you do? Freeze and do nothing, that’s what. When he defended you on the docks of Laketown, and Thorin started in on him, what did you do? Nothing! When your uncle physically assaulted him on the ramparts, what did you DO? ‘

Kili doesn’t answer, his mind frantically running over the past events of the quest. What the hobbit is saying cannot be true. He was always there to protect and defend his brother! 

‘What did you do on Ravenhill?’ Deathless asks quietly. ‘You were very eager to argue with your uncle, your king, at every turn, but not your brother? You knew Azog and his signal corps were on top of Ravenhill, yet you left your brother to go search the lower levels without a word?’

Kili begins to sob anew, his shoulders slumping and shaking from the weight of his grief. 

‘Leave him be!’ Thorin shouts. ‘It is not his fault.’

‘No, no it’s not.’ Deathless agrees. ‘And rehashing the events will not change them. Fili made his decision freely, and he is now dead, but his son lives. I intend to make sure that the lad’s future is secured before this body fails me.’

‘He is on his way here.’ Dain offers. ‘With his mother.’ 

‘I’m not a dishonorable dwarf.’ Kili interrupts, sniffling and wiping his nose with his sleeve. ‘I begged Thorin to help to the people of Laketown, remember?’ Kili is desperate to redeem his actions. 

‘Aye, you did say those words…but what did you DO for the people of Laketown when you stood on the lakeshore? Your sole focus was not to wonder if your kin at the Lonely Mountain was alive or dead or to empathize with the plight of the people surrounding you, crying out their terror, pain, and grief for the loss of their homes and loved ones. No…your sole focus was on the elf maid.’

Deathless sighs wearily and continues. ‘You are not a dishonorable dwarf, lad, just self-absorbed and self -serving. A function of youth and not being taught any differently, I suppose. You have the qualities of loyalty, honor, and willing heart inside you. Your brother certainly thought so…but your immaturity gets in the way.’

‘My brother’s dead and I cannot make it up to him!’ Kili howls in anguish. 

‘Your brother may be dead, but his son is not, Kili. ’ 

‘Fili’s son is in route now?’ Balin asks. ‘If the lad truly is Fili’s.’ He adds darkly. 

‘Aye, I sent a raven to his mother to come here with all speed.’ Dain chuckles at his cousin’s unsubtle inference. ‘One look at the bairn, and you’ll see there is no doubt who his father is.’ Dain’s comment sets off a firestorm of questions and conversations within the assembled group. 

‘Thran…do you have more of the poppy milk?’ Deathless whispers hoarsely. The pain is back, crashing down on him in waves like a tide. 

‘Of course.’ Thranduil gives the dwarf a large dose. ‘I will clear all these dwarves out of here so you can rest. This matter can hold until the boy and his mother arrive.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I will get flack about my treatment of Kili in this chapter. I apologize in advance. I make no bones of how badly I thought the filmmakers chose to depict Kili, but that is not the character's fault. I am trying to explore the how and why Kili acted in the manner that he did in the movies and what he could possibly do to move forward. Ditto for Thorin.


	14. Marakhal, royal guard and shield to Prince Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief, very brief, scene at the ten year commemoration of the Battle Five Armies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I must apologize for shelving this fic for almost four months. If there is anyone still reading, thank you!. Second, I apologize that this chapter is so markedly short. One would think with a four month break, I could come up with something longer and better, but alas... no. I really have no excuse other than the run up to the US election (I live in the US) and the negativity of that slog was rather taxing. However, with the election result, I was horrified...truly, on many levels. It was like I had to have a grieving period...for the US...for the world, and I just did not feel like writing. I cannot stand unfinished business, so I plan to finish this fic...the time jump was the best way for me to introduce how things get sorted out. Again, thank you for reading and commenting.

Ten years later….

It is the ten year remembrance of the Battle of Five Armies. It is a grand affair with many dwarves from the other seven dwarven clans in Erebor to commemorate the day Thorin Oakenshield had won back the Lonely Mountain. The day in which he and his sister sons had passed into legend. The formal ceremonies for the day are over, but the young crown prince of Erebor had wanted to return to the royal crypt. He is intrigued by the tombs. 

Marakhal stands silently next to the solemn thirteen year old dwarfling, Prince Thorin. The wee dark headed prince is as serious as an occasion such as this dictates. He runs his chubby hand over the runes marking the names of the royal inhabitants of the tombs. 

Looking up to his constant companion, Thorin asks in his high, dwarfling voice, his blue eyes wide. ‘They were brothers? They died together?’ 

Marakkhal swallows hard and has to use all the stubbornness innate to dwarves not break eye contact with the lad as he smoothly lies. ‘Aye.’ 

The boy hums in distress for a moment. ‘You know, ‘ The prince whispers sadly, ‘Amad says I won’t have a brother. Or a sister, for that matter.’ 

‘No.’ Marakhal does not have to be deceptive this time. He knows the Queen will bear no other child. 

The small prince moves to the other, larger tomb. ‘The King died, too?’ 

Again Marakhal has to lie, and he does so easily. ‘Aye.’ 

‘And that is when Adad became King Under the Mountain?’ 

Marakhal nods silently. Prince Thorin knows he will not get many words out the grim dwarf that has been his shadow, his royal guard and shield, for as long as he can remember. Marakhal is often as silent as the occupants of these tombs, but today he is seems even more detached and unresponsive.

‘I have the same name as him… as King Thorin… do I look like him?’ 

When he receives no answer, the dwarfling hazards a glance up to peer at his guard’s face. Perhaps Marakkhal has not heard his question, but Prince Thorin can see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, even under the dark, full beard. The dwarfling realizes his question must have made his shield guard very sad for some reason. Trying to remedy the situation, he slips his fat, little hand into Marakhal's warm one, Prince Thorin’s flashes a brilliant smile while he tries to cheer up the dour guard. 

‘Let’s go see if there are any biscuits left.’ 

It is all Marakhal can do not to break down and cry at the sight of the dimples winking in the lad’s cheerful face. A smile and face so familiar to him it makes his chest constrict and his heart seize. He gripes the dwarfling’s hand snugly in his and nods. With one last, long look back at one of the crypts, the royal guard blinks back his tears and straightens his spine. He escorts the charge he had sworn a blood oath to protect in search of the elusive double chocolate biscuits the boy so loves.


	15. Time does not necessarily heal all wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dain and Marakhal share a smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, this chapter will give you a few more clues to who Marakhal is.

Late into the night, long after the odd pair, the dark headed and stern faced guard with the sweet, smiling Crown Prince had been successful in their search for double chocolate biscuits, the stoic, royal guard sits alongside King Dain in the private, royal suite deep within the Lonely Mountain. King and guard puff on their pipes in silence. The Queen urges her son to bid the King good night. It had been a long and emotionally taxing day for her, and the sooner Prince Thorin is abed, the sooner she can be as well. 

‘Night night, Adad.’ The boy yawns. King Dain gently pulls the lad’s forehead to his.

‘Good night, you wee biscuit thieving badger.’ 

Thorin’s face cracks into an impish smile, his dimples winking. He casks a quick look over his shoulder to ensure his mother is not too close by before he whispers. ‘We saved some for you. They’re in your bedchamber.’ 

‘That’s my boy.’ The king whispers back and winks. Louder he says. ‘Off to bed with you. The men of Dale and the elves of the Woodland Realm will be here tomorrow.’ 

‘Night ‘Khal.’ Thorin says, and he goes to press his forehead against the guard’s. ‘I’m sorry I made you sad today.’ 

‘I’m never sad when I’m with you.’ The dwarf answers quickly and absolutely truthfully. Glancing up at the Queen’s face, he continues. ‘Today was hard for many of us.’

The Queen regards the guard coolly before she turns to her husband, the king. 

‘I will see you on the morrow. Good evening, Dain. Marakhal.’ With that she turns to usher her son to his bedchamber. Marakhal’s own small, sleeping chamber is just adjacent to the crown prince’s. Once she has tucked her son prince in, Marakhal knows the Queen will retire to her own private bedchamber, one that is separate from Dain’s. 

Dain watches fondly as his wife and her son disappear through the doorframe. He heaves a big sigh and looks over to intently study the dwarven guard as he sits hunched, now staring into the crackling fire. 

‘I dare say tomorrow will be hard for some as well.’ Dain has learned from long years as the Lord of the Iron Hills and the last decade as the king of all the dwarven clans. He has found from past experiences avoiding a difficult subject is rarely successful strategy. The King Under the Mountain wants to make sure the young guard has processed his conflicting emotions BEFORE the elves arrive.

Marakhal’s head jerks up, and he blinks rapidly. ‘Have you spoken to Thranduil…do you know...’ He breaks of and takes a deep breath. ‘Will…she be among the guests?’

Dain has no doubt to whom Marakhal is referring. ‘I have no idea, lad.’ He sighs. ‘But here is what I DO know.’ The king proceeds to tick off the points on his thick fingers. ‘One- Thranduil and his entourage will be here, including his son, Legolas.’

The guard frowns at that name but remains silent to let the king continue.

‘Two-the banishment in the Woodland Realm is still in effect. Thranduil has no use for traitorous or treasonous behavior any more than I or King Bard does. That leads to me to my third point- no, King Bard has heard nothing of her and I don’t suppose he wishes to. Once he had learned that she had done nothing to attempt to pursue Bain when the boy jumped overboard during Smaug’s attack on Laketown, HE made it known she was unwelcome in Dale. ‘ 

Leaning back in his chair, Dain pauses before going on. ‘However, be that as it may, it is still a free land. IF she decides to come to the ceremony, I will not stop her. I do not want her in the mountain, mind. As in ever. ‘

Here the king gives the royal guard a hard stare. When Marakhal nods his head slightly, Dain’s tone softens. ‘I would not oppose a loyal guard, one who has served me and Prince Thorin for ten years with honor and a willing heart, a chance to speak to a wayward elf. ’

Shoving his pipe back in his mouth, Dain waits for Marakhal’s response. It takes several moments for the guard to speak. When he does, it is in a firm voice.

‘I will not leave Thorin. I am his shield…I will be ALWAYS be his shield. But I would like a chance to see to her again. To fully explain my decision.’ 

‘So be it, then.’ Dain says, and the pair puff on their pipes for several minutes in companionable silence before Dain broaches another sensitive subject. ‘Ah...did you happen to see Matharnon today?’

At the mention of that name, Marakhal starts and leans forward, searching his king’s face for clues. ‘No! He’s here? Where?’ The guard hurriedly rises to his feet only for Dain to wave him back to his seat.

‘No, no…and that has me…concerned. Balin, too. We both expected to see him or at least get some word from him.’ 

‘He could be in the Shire.’ Marakhal muses aloud as he resettles himself. ‘He could have gone there after scouting out Khazad-dum.’ 

‘I suppose so.’ Dain hums. ‘I believe Balin is thinking along the same lines as you are. He is determined to go see Bilbo come spring.’ 

‘And if Balin doesn’t find him in the Shire?’

‘Then Balin means to raise a force to resettle Khazad- dum.’ 

Marakhal blows out his cheeks. ‘I wish Balin would stay here. I wish Matharnon had stayed here. I fear nothing good will come from trying to take back Khazad-dum.’

Dain chuckles. ‘I’m afraid you are right there, lad, and I agree with you on both points. But the Queen was not to be dissuaded. She did not want him within a hundred leagues of her son. ’ 

‘Do you think she still feels that way?’ 

‘Hard to tell, lad, hard to tell. Time does not necessarily heal all wounds.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marakhal- one who is a shield, one who shields
> 
> Martharnon- one who has dared, one who dares


	16. Wide, blue eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While watching Prince Thorin sleep, Marakhal remembers the first time he had ever seen the lad.

Before going to slip silently into his small chamber, Marakhal stops by Prince Thorin’s room and looks down where the lad lays slumbering in his bed. The boy sleeps so much like Fili with only the crown of his head visible and his hair fanned out on the pillow but with one little foot sticking outside the pile of down blankets. The only difference is the color of the hair. Marakhal’s heart squeezes with memories from his youth. The young guard’s mind wanders to days in Ered Luin with his mother and his brother. They had been happy. They had had enough, but his uncle dreamed, schemed, and by the sheer force of his iron clad will had dared to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. 

More than anything else, Marakhal wishes he could turn back time so that he could have paid more attention to the many burdens his older brother carried and the secrets he kept. He had not taken the slightest notice that his uncle had twisted his brother’s heart and mind nor that his brother had fallen in love, had planned to depart Erebor without a backward glance once the dwarven kingdom had been fortified, had had a son that he had never laid eyes on. 

But wishing is a futile business. Marakhal turns to retire to his own chamber when he almost treads on the Queen’s slippered feet. Rearing back, not in fright, but in sheer surprise that she could have gotten so close to him without him sensing her approach, Marakhal throws out his hand to steady himself against the doorframe.

Her green eyes bore into him, but she says nothing, waiting him out. Shifting from foot to foot, the guard is unsure what to say. He is always unsure what to say to her. This is the dwarrowdam his brother had loved, had, in secret, wed, and had a child with, yet she still remains almost as mysterious and unknown to Marakhal as the day he had learned of her existence all those years ago… 

 

Four days after the Battle of Five Armies:

Thorin had requested to see his youngest nephew prior to his departure. Thorin had stayed sequestered deep within the mountain. Unwilling to see any one save members of the company, Thorin's decision had left Dain to take up the mantle of overseeing the operation of Erebor. 

Kili plans to leave Erebor with the red headed elf maid, Tauriel. The pair would have left earlier, but they had run into problems securing needed provisions. Kili had been stunned when the dwarves from the Iron Hills had stoically but firmly refused. They were in need of all the food and supplies they had brought with them, and the pleas of a single dwarf, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield or no, had fell on deaf ears. The men of Dale had next to nothing, and the Woodland elves had flatly told Tauriel no aid would be forthcoming. 

Tauriel had been outraged, not believing her old comrades could spare nothing. Her self-righteous ranting had led to a rather unpleasant confrontation with the new captain of the guard just outside the elven encampment. 

‘Tell me, Tauriel, where were you when the elves you were meant to be commanding, fought and died?’ 

The elf maid splutters, taken aback by the accusation. 

‘Trying to save the life of someone I love! There is no shame in that.’ She finally shouts. 

Weaving through the throng of elves, the King of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil, materializes to stand in front Tauriel. He smiles tightly. ‘I see, yes, but you took my son, someone I happen to love, with you on your fool’s errand. Someone whose life was your SWORN duty to protect. You used his feelings for you to lead him into danger to save ONE dwarf for your own selfish interests. And you accuse ME of having no love in my heart? Be gone, we have no use of your ilk.’ 

Stunned, Tauriel looks to her former comrades for support. She finds none in the grim faces staring back at her. 

‘Did you think of any of the elves dead on the ground under your feet?’ One pipes up. 

Tauriel blinks, unsure of the question. She shakes her head in confusion.

‘You know, when you decided to finally show up on the field to do what? Threaten the life of our king? The ground was LITTERED with elves, dead or dying. My brother was among them. Someone I loved. Did you give him or any of those elves one damn thought?’ 

Stepping backwards, Tauriel does not know what to think. She had been JUSTIFIED to drop all her responsibilities to save Kili, right? The one she loves mattered over all else. Did they not understand that? 

‘Why should we help you when you could not be bothered to simply do your duty?’ Another asks tiredly. 

The former captain of the guard has no answer. Thranduil waves his hand. ‘Be gone…the one you love has survived this terrible battle, that is more than many can say.’ 

Tauriel is speechless, and Kili tightly grips her hand, tugging her away from the cold gaze of the elves. He looks like a child pulling his mother along. Kili opens his mouth to reassure her when he notices a dark haired dwarrowdam hurrying towards the front gate. He would have not spared the young dam a second glance had not a small face peered over her shoulder. Wide, blue eyes lock with his. Kili drops Tauriel’s hand and darts after the dam carrying the small dwarfling.


	17. It feels good to laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lighter chapter with Marakhal and the queen having an unprecedented, late-night chat over tea.

Marakhal stares at his shuffling boots, lost in memory, when the Queen sighs tiredly. 

‘I have been so caught up in my own grief that I failed to recognize how… how much you lost that day as well. ‘

Her words, softly spoken, surprise the guard, and his head snaps up to peer intensely into her face, try to gauge her meaning. 

‘He was your brother…you knew him for far longer than I…I had no right to think mine was the only loss from that wretched battle.’ She speaks quietly yet firmly. ‘That I was the only one feeling deep and terrible pain.’ 

Marakhal is speechless he is so stunned. The Queen had always held herself, her thoughts, and feelings very separate from himself. She rarely spoke to him or acknowledged his presence at all. 

She squeezes her eyes closed for a moment, and when she opens them again, her eyes swim with unshed tears. 

‘I thought if I treated you as Thorin had treated Fili for all those years- as if you were invisible, unimportant, expendable, that…that…I don’t know…it would make me feel better. What rot THAT idea was.’ 

The dark haired dam gazes unflinching into the guard’s shocked face. ‘I apologize, Khal. I have been reading Fili’s letters…the first time since… I just could not bear look at them before today. They are filled with stories of the adventures you and he shared. Of how much you meant to him.’

‘Fili wrote of me? To you?’ Marakhal asks. The Queen had remained a mystery to him since the day she strode into Erebor a decade ago. ‘What did he say?’ The young dwarf can still scarcely believe that his golden haired brother would not have revealed to him ANY detail of this dam standing before him. 

‘Of how you two almost set Balin’s beard alight…of how Nori taught you how to pick a lock…those kind of things. Little details really.’

Marakhal reels with this news. Just how long HAD his brother known the brunet dam? His expression asks the question running through his mind. 

‘I suppose you never knew of me. Fili and I had met when we were both rather young.’ Cocking her head, the queen purses her lips. ‘Early forties, I would say.’ 

‘How did it progress to…’Marakhal gestures with his hand towards the sleeping child. 

The queen smiles ruefully as she follows his meaning. ‘The usual way I suppose.’ She pauses, watching her slumbering child and then cuts her gaze back to the tall guard. She studies him for a few long moments and then nods her head as if coming to a decision. ‘I couldn’t sleep so I have made some tea…and, uh…it seems you cannot either. Would you care to join me for cup?’ 

The guard literally rocks back on his heels. ‘Uh…well….’

‘No need, I thought you could use the company.’ She says stiffly and turns to leave. 

‘No!’ Markhal almost shouts the word. Hastily peering into the darken room to ensure that he had not roused the dwarfling, he continues in a lower tone. ‘No, I mean, yes…I could use the company, very much, in fact.’ He smiles.

‘Very well then.’ She says. Shaking her head, she adds over her should. ‘You and your brother both had...have such wonderful smiles.’ 

Once the pair are seated in the queen’s parlor with steaming cups of honey sweetened tea, Marakhal’s eyes fall on the sloping stacks of letters spread on her chaise lounge. An image of seeing his brother hunched over a piece of parchment with a nub of a pencil in his hand flashes through Marakhal’s mind’s eye. 

‘He wrote you all those letters?’ 

‘Aye, he did.’ 

‘I never saw him receive a letter in the last decade.’ Marakhal can hear the accusation in his own voice. 

‘I am…I was, a swordsmith. Once things…progressed....between Fili and me, I began writing to him by etching messages on daggers, swords, throwing axes, and what not and sending them to him.’ 

Marakhal’s mouth falls open. He had always wondered why in Mahal’s name had his brother been so keen to keep so damn many weapons on his person. It also explained why Fili had so lovingly polished and sharpened them, never allowing anyone else to handle them. Ever. Marakhal shudders. Fili had been devastated when the elves had taken all his various and sundry blades off him in Mirkwood. Marakhal swallows. He had made fun of his big brother for that. He thinks of those weapons. They still have to be SOMEWHERE in Mirkwood. 

‘Why did he not tell Thorin? Tell me?’ 

Sighing, the queen sets her cup down. ‘I believe he tried to tell Thorin, but Thorin barely acknowledged your brother’s existence. Once Fili had learned that I was…expecting…there had already been talk of ‘signs’ to reclaim the mountain. I begged him to leave Ered Luin and come to be with me in the Iron Hills. He wouldn’t…he would not abandon his king nor his brother when faced with such a daunting task. No…service before self, he wanted to ensure that the mountain was reclaimed. Then and only then, did he feel he had fulfilled his promise to your uncle. ‘ 

‘What promise was that?’ 

‘You really don’t know? The promise that he would keep you safe. Ostensibly, so that he would never have to feel the pain of losing his younger brother, but Fili suspected there was more to it than that.’ 

‘By Durin’s beard, what are you going on about?’ Marakhal demands, his tea cup and saucer clunking down on the table hard enough for the tea to slosh over the side.

‘Do you pay attention to ANYTHING that does not directly impact you or only that which pertains to you?’ She puts up a hand. ‘I apologize, but honestly, Khal, did you not notice that there were no other blonde dwarves in any kind of important position in Ered Luin? Did you not know that one of the very first laws Dain enacted as King Under the Mountain was to abolish the old practice of bed servants in Erebor?’ 

‘Aye.’ He nods slowly, not really seeing the correlation she was obviously trying to make. His brow is furrowed in puzzlement.

The queen huffs out a breath and stares at him, trying to gauge how genuine his confusion is. She sees no deception lurking in his brown eyes. 

‘Centuries ago, blondes, blonde dwarves had been kept as bed slaves… or servants, as the other dwarves liked to use the convenient, if inaccurate, euphemism. It is the reason Thror left the Grey Mountains all those hundreds of years ago. When the other dwarven clans outlawed the practice of bed slaves, Thror and many of the Longbeards left the Grey Mountains to return to the Lonely Mountain. They wanted to keep their bed slaves. When the dragon attacked, driving the Longbeards into exhile, blondes gained a foothold of independence, but it hardly changed the hearts and minds of most Longbeards. Blondes were seen as subservient. Perhaps they no longer held as bed slaves, but they were hardly looked on as equals. ‘

The queen leans towards Marakhal. ‘Did you not know why Dain refused to help your company when Thorin asked for assistance from the other clans?’ 

Mutely, the guard shakes his head no. 

‘Because when Thorin was asked explicitly about his stance on the issue of bed servants, he said he planned to uphold the Ereborian laws and traditions in place before advent of the dragon.’ 

Leaning back in her chair, the queen continues. ‘You see, even if Fili had survived he would have been never accepted as even a member of a guild, much less, a member of Thorin’s council. Never mind ever being king. Fili took the fact that Thorin had exacted promises from him time and time again to keep you safe was so that YOU would one day be king. ’ 

Her words feel like a kick to gut. Marakhal HAD noticed at times that some other dwarves had looked at his brother questioningly, if not openly hostile. Even other members of their small company had, while never being overtly disrespectful to Fili, there had always been a certain undercurrent of distance and dismissiveness towards his brother. 

‘How do you know all this?’ He questions. 

‘Well, I’m not blind nor deaf. I’ve heard how some other dwarves speak of blondes when no blondes are around. That and Dain told me about reason the other clans declined to participate in the quest to reclaim Erebor. He has been very open with me about the subject.’ 

‘I’ve NEVER heard anyone say such things.’

‘Not surprising. I bet they were afraid you would put an arrow in their eye for their trouble. Your father and your brother were both blonde after all.’ 

‘Fair point…if you and Dain are so close, why don’t you sleep with him?’ It is a brutally blunt question, and the queen blinks rapidly to process both the rapid change of subject and the overt rudeness of such an inquiry. 

Finally, she narrows her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know THAT story, either?’ She asks incredulous. 

‘What story?’ He responds aggrieved. 

‘Hmmm…you see, Dain hits on the other side of the anvil.’ When the queen sees only his blank stare in return, she elaborates. ‘He likes dwarrows, not dams.’ If Marakhal is going to ask blunt questions, then he is going to get blunt answers. 

‘That can’t be right!’ The guard exclaims. ‘He and Dwalin are inseparable and they don’t….’ He trails off at her knowing smile. 

‘Dain and Dwalin?’ He squeaks. 

‘Aye- they are inseparable and as the king’s personal guard, Dwalin’s chamber is adjacent to Dain’s. I learned early on to be VERY loud in announcing myself and to be VERY slow before entering Dain’s suite in the mornings.’ 

‘Mahal’s ball hairs! Who tops?’ Marakhal blurts out before thinking. The queen’s eyes go wide with surprise before she laughs outright. 

‘I have no idea and I don’t EVER intend to ask!’ She grins, still giggling. 

Her laughter causes Marakhal to smile, and he begins to laugh as well. It dawns on Marakhal that he had never heard her laugh before and he says so. 

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling. ‘Aye, I imagine you haven’t. It feels good to laugh again.' She wipes the tears of mirth from her eyes. 

‘In the future, I will have to work harder to give you more reason to do so.’ He promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It can never be said that I don't tend over analyze some things. After I saw the movies and then after I started writing Hobbit fanfic, I had often pondered a plausible reason for Thorin's lack of interactions with or concern for Fili. Then in the last movie, where not one of the other dwarves go to embrace Fili when he, Kili, Bofur, and Oin arrive in Erebor, I hit upon the idea of 'blondes having been some kind of subservient class', but I had not found a way to work into the story. I imagine some readers will not like the idea or think it is ridiculous. I cannot dispute that it may be, but it is my story, so... 
> 
> And there be will no romantic development between the queen and Marakhal (Kili). They are just two dwarves trying to make the best of losing someone they both loved.


	18. As I do with Prince Thorin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marakhal gets some insight into his brother's mind. He goes to speak to Dain and Dwalin.

Marakhal sits on a high balcony overlooking the plain between Erebor and Dale. The first dim light of the horizon is visible, harkening the arrival of a new day. A bitter wind whips his cheeks and stings his eyes. After the breakthrough he had achieved with the Queen last night and in the highest spirits, he had requested to see his brother’s letters to her. What a colossal mistake that had been he mournfully thinks now. 

The Queen had been rather hesitant to hand over the cherished items to him. Her eyes which up until last night had so often been filled with indifference towards him, had been sad and sympathetic when she had finally relented and given him the letters. He wonders if his uncle had ever read his brother’s words? Had Thorin felt as gutted and as empty as he feels right now? Only a few dwarves would know the answer to that question, and he means to find out straight away. 

Only the most trusted royal guards would be allowed entry into the King’s chamber without explicit invitation, so when Marakhal stalks towards Dain’s suite with determined strides, the guards at the main entry way to the King’s rooms let him pass unquestioned even though the hour is a very early one. The sight that awaits the young guard once he gains access to Dain’s inner most chamber is one he shan’t quickly forget. While, thank the Maker and his hammer, Dain and Dwalin are not engaged in any act of a sexual nature, there is enough furred and tattooed flesh to haunt Marakhal’s dreams henceforth.

‘Oy! What the fuck do you think you’re doing!’ Dwalin bellows once he had regained his wits. Standing in between the unexpected intruder and his King. Even without a stitch of clothing on, Dwalin is still an imposing presence. Hands on hips, the large guard glowers at the younger dwarf. 

‘I need to talk to you. To you both.’ Marakhal says simply. 

When Dwalin sees the pieces of parchment in Marakhal’s hand, he sighs. He had been grateful all those years ago when Thorin had read Fili’s letters that Kili had not been interested in doing the same. Apparently, the young dwarf had finally seen some of his brother’s inner most thoughts and feelings. Dwalin hopes beyond hope that the younger brother will not react in the same manner as his uncle had to some of the sentiments expressed by Fili. 

By this time, Dain appears from behind Dwalin, equally unclothed with hair and beard just as mussed as his guard’s. ‘Ah…so you’ve finally read them?’ 

Holding up the letters, Marakhal croaks. ‘Is this why Thorin left?’ 

‘Partly…I know your brother’s words hit him like a war hammer.’ 

‘You think?’ Marakhal snaps.

‘Damn it, it is far too early in the morning for sarcasm, lad.’ Dain chides, but he is sympathetic to the young guard. ‘Let Dwalin and me get dressed, and then we can talk, yeah?’ 

‘Yeah.’ Marakhal answers shakily. As he turns to walk towards Dain’s sitting area, he murmurs over his shoulder. ‘How badly did it hurt when you got your cock tattooed, Dwalin?’

A well aimed pillow hits against the back of his head as he exists the bedchamber. 

 

A half hour or so later, the two guards and their king are seated, sharing strongly brewed, steaming hot, black coffee. Dwalin with his more private tattoos now covered, Dain can only be thankful that Marakhal had not noticed that he has a matching tattoo on his cock. 

‘So, you’ve seen your brother’s letters?’ 

‘Aye, the Queen and I had enjoyed a pleasant evening together last night. I saw the letters in her chamber and asked to read them.’ 

When both Dwalin and Dain’s eyebrows shoot past their hairlines, or in Dwalin’s case, where his hair line should be, Marakhal waves them off. ‘Nothing like that…we had a chance to finally talk… and even laugh a little.’ Referring to the letters where they lay on the table, he continues. ‘I understand now why she didn’t want to let me see them.’

‘Your uncle had insisted on seeing some kind of proof of her claims when she and the lad had arrived at Erebor.’ Shaking his head, Dain laments. ‘Any fool could see your brother’s face in that boy at first glance, but no, Thorin wanted to see definitive proof. Well, he got it and unfortunately, a great deal more when he read those letters.’ 

‘Aye.’ Dwalin agrees. 

‘Why… how? ‘ Marakhal chokes.

‘I believe the question Thorin tortured himself with was WHY he had never known how your brother felt.’ 

‘Aye.’ The young guard answers morosely. ‘I would have thought I knew Fili better than anyone…I guess, I didn’t.’

‘Your brother kept his thoughts and emotions to himself. No one would have guessed what those letters held.’

Marakhal drops his head into his hands. The sight makes Dwalin flinch at how much he resembles his uncle after Thorin had read Fili’s damning words. 

‘Fili held no ill will towards either of you, you have to know that, yeah?’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘Why what? He loved you that’s why!’ Dwalin barks loudly.

‘He loved her, too. But he didn’t leave the company to join her in the Iron Hills!’ Marakhal snaps, clearly trying to reconcile his brother’s actions.

Dwalin huffs out in frustration. ‘Fili had pledged to Thorin to see Erebor restored. Regardless of his personal wishes, he knew that he had a higher duty to the dwarven people. By my beard, you did read those blasted letters? He spelled that out very clearly. He would not just abandon his duty because he fell in love. ‘ 

‘I was ready to… to abandon everything and everyone because I thought I was in love.’ Marakhal whispers. 

‘Aye, but what kept you here?’ 

‘I owed it to Fili.’

‘Bah!’ Dwalin snorts and waves his hand dismissively.

Dain, who had remained silent during the heated exchange between the two guards, says slowly. ‘Perhaps you stayed out of some sense of duty at first, but you love that boy more than anyone in this mountain.’ 

‘Aye, I suppose I do.’ The younger dwarf agrees after several moments of thought. 

‘You want to see him grown before you leave to pursue your own interests?’

‘Certainly.’

Dain smiles. ‘Then you are doing the exact same thing as your brother did. He could have left Ered Luin before the company of Thorin Oakenshield had even been assembled. Many dwarves of lesser character would have. Fili didn’t.’ 

Shooting Dwalin a hard look, Dain continues. ‘The huge irony is that Thorin and many other Longbeards had pegged Fili as somehow subservient to them because of something as ridiculous as the color of his hair. Utter nonsense, of course. He did not run away because some treated him unfairly. He stayed to do his job, and he paid the ultimate price for it.’

Marakhal drops his head back into his hands. ‘He stayed with me in Laketown despite Thorin’s demands, and how did I repay him, but to treat him just as my uncle did.’ Looking up with pleading eyes, the young dwarf confesses. ‘I jerked away from him as if he was beneath me or inferior to me.’

‘We all get caught up in our dramas sometimes, lad. Did Fili hold it against it you?’ 

Shaking his head, the tears he had been holding in since he had first started reading, finally overflow and drop like fat raindrops on the stone floor. 

‘No, of course, he didn’t. He didn’t hold onto grudges and past hurts like most dwarves do.’ Dwalin says trying to sooth the distraught dwarf. 

‘The reason Thorin decided to cede the throne was so that she and the boy would stay after Fili’s funeral.’ Throwing a fond look at Dain, Dwalin winks. ‘Little Thorin took quite a shine to a certain Lord of the Iron Hills not unlike my own reaction...’ 

Marakhal groans a little, interrupting Dwalin cooing. ‘Mahal help me.’ He mumbles. 

‘I’ve naught to be ashamed of! When Dain decides to work his charms few can withstand them!’ 

Marakhal looks up in abject horror, mouth agape. 

‘It was a bit more practical than Mister Lovestruck is making out.’ Dain laughs at the youngster’s horrified face. ‘Thorin wanted to ensure Fili’s son would inherit the throne, but the boy’s mother would not stay. She was afraid Thorin would treat him the same as he had Fili so it was decided that the Great Thorin Oakenshield would pass into legend. He handed the throne to me under the explicit understanding that the lad be raised as my son. ‘

Nodding Marakhal sniffs. ‘I know that bit…Thorin had told me he was leaving. That it was important for the dwarves to believe he…we had died of our wounds…as Fili had so you would become King Under the Mountain. I just wish he had told me of Fili’s letters. I can well imagine the pain he must have been in.’ 

‘Ah…I suppose he did it to protect you. He always had been rather over-protective of you. He saw so much of his own brother in you.’ Dwalin says softly. 

‘Just as I do with Prince Thorin, I suppose?’ 

‘Aye.’ Dain and Dwalin agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, this fic is hard to finish up. I am simply unmotivated, but I don't like to leave things unfinished. All comments are welcome, in fact, they often give me inspiration.


	19. He will follow his heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves hear word about the whereabouts of Martharon from the elves. They also learn what he has been doing. Marakhal sees someone he had been looking for.

Several hours later, Marakhal stands quietly with Dwalin and Gandalf, the Grey, alongside the royal families as they oversee the dwarven, elven and human processions honoring their dead from the terrible battle a decade earlier. The smoke from the damn wizard’s pipe keeps blowing in his eyes, making them even more red rimmed than before. At least it gives him the excuse of having a puffy face and bloodshot eyes. 

King Bard’s son, Bain, remarks about his appearance the second the young man had confidently swaggered onto the reviewing stand. 

‘You look like shit.’ 

‘Thanks.’ 

Legolas who had been hidden behind King Thranduil’s billowing robes, swivels his head to glare at his romantic rival and sniffs in contempt once he lays eyes on the dwarf. Shaking his head, the young elf turns back to stare straight ahead, still wondering how it was that the elf maid had favored THAT over him. 

Marakhal doesn’t give a dead dog for Legolas’s contempt nor for Bain’s ribbing. He repeatedly scans the crowds of elves, men, and dwarves for any sign of his uncle or the elf maid. Much to his disappointment, he finds none.

As if reading his mind, which is a disconcerting thought in its self, the elven king, says in a low voice. 

‘My son brings word of Martharon.’ 

The simple sentence drops like an unexploded grenade among the dwarves and the wizard. They all stiffen, taut as bow strings in anticipation of the elf’s next words. 

Obviously enjoying the tension he had created, Thranduil lets the words hang for several heartbeats, before he continues. ‘Apparently he sought out Lord Elrod’s advice in matters concerning….’ Another pregnant pause. ‘Balrogs.’ 

Dain and Gandalf exchange a grim, knowing look, but Marakhal is rather bewildered by the word. He had thought his uncle had went to Moria in the hopes of one day restoring it for the dwarves. 

‘Are you talking about that beggar dwarf who showed up in Rivendell while I was there?’ Legolas scoffs. 

Dain uses a hand on one of Dwalin’s and Marakhal’s arms as a means of restraining them from tossing the arrogant elven princeling from the dais. 

Noticing the death glares he receives from the two dwarven guards, Legolas continues to twist the knife. ‘Dressed in filthy clothes, a long, unkempt, salt and pepper grey beard, close cropped hair…’

‘Shut up, Legolas.’ His father snaps, clearly as irritated with his son as his dwarven hosts. 

‘Lord Elrod sent word back with Legolas that a dwarf calling himself Martharon arrived at Rivendell a couple of years ago. Quite changed in appearance from the last time he had seen him but still with an imperious bearing. This dwarf is scouring the great library there for all possible knowledge about balrogs. Elrod thinks it is possible that he will seek out the Lord Celeborn in Lothlorien as well.’ 

‘Some smelly beggar shows up at the door uninvited, and Elrod takes him right in. A dwarf no less!’ Legolas huffs. ‘Escorts him to the library himself.’ 

‘I said, SHUT UP, Legolas.’ Thranduil grinds out. 

‘He’s in Rivendell?’ Marakhal whispers to Dwalin who vibrates with an unmasked desire to wrap his large paws around the blonde elf’s scrawny neck. 

‘So it would seem.’ Puffs Gandalf. ‘One who dared to reclaim a homeland from a dragon is now seeking to reclaim another from Durin’s Bane.’ 

King Dain drips his head in frustration and blows out a long breath. ‘The bloody fool….’ 

‘Who are they talking about?’ Sigrid whispers to her brother. 

‘Haven’t a clue.’ 

‘You know, Da?’ The children of King Bard turn to their father. 

Shrugging his shoulders, the former bargeman of Laketown, remains silent, staring straight down at the long lines of solemn companies of soldiers marching and their banners fluttering below. He wonders at the stubbornness and pride of dwarves and vows never to repeat the mistakes he has seen them make. 

 

The rest of the ceremony passes in stoney silence between the assembled royal families. At the very end of the line, Marakhal spies a flash of the red hair he had been so anxious to see. Craning his neck, his keen eyes find the billowing, red hair and the green tunic. 

To his credit, Dain had heard the small gasp from young dwarf, and the king grants the guard leave with just a glance. 

Once Marakhal had hurried from the reviewing platform, Dwalin asks. ‘Do you think he will return?’

‘Dunno.’ Dain answers with a sigh.

‘He will follow his heart.’ Queen remarks softly. Young Prince Thorin grips her hand more tightly and follows the dark headed guard with anxious blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments. It looks like there are still a couple of readers left! We are getting to the end. I think one more chapter and then maybe an epilogue chapter.


	20. Do you think his life is worth more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marakhal gets to speak to the elf maid.

Dodging elves, men, and dwarves alike, Marakhal rushes to where he had last seen the elf maid. For a moment, he fears he had lost her, but then, he sees the long, flowing hair and races to her side. 

‘Taur….’ His voice trails off when he sees a tall, dark haired man next to the elf. The man has dark stubble along his jaw and long, fly away hair, and he is standing far too close for Marakhal’s liking. 

‘Ki..’ She gets only a single syllable out before the dwarven guards cuts her off sharply. 

‘Marakhal, my name is Marakhal, but my friends call me Khal.’ He says firmly in between gulps of breath, hoping she will get his meaning. 

‘Khal.’ She hums, smiling. 

‘Nadril.’ The man says, thrusting out his hand towards the dwarf. Marakhal looks at it suspiciously but takes the proffered hand. The man’s grip is firm but not overly so, and his smile seems genuine. 

‘At your service.’ Marakhal says, finally remembering his manners. ‘Welcome to Erebor.’ He looks to the elf for some sign of who this man could be. 

‘My friend, Nadril, a Ranger of the North.’ She says quietly. 

‘Ah…I see.’ The dwarf answers, but he doesn’t see. 

‘Nadril, could you get me some wine? I haven’t had the taste of decent wine for a decade.’ She says to the ranger, but her eyes never leave Marakhal’s face. 

‘You wound me, love. Is our wine in the North not good enough for you?’ His words would be biting if his tone had not been so playful. Before she can answer, he says good naturedly. ‘I know, elven wine is far superior. I’ll head over to their reception tent to secure a couple of glasses. Perhaps a bottle or two. How about you, Khal? Would you like a glass?’ 

Marakhal bristles at the easy way the man had addressed him, tossing the name Khal about, and moreover, he is troubled by the way he had referred to the elf maid. Not trusting his own voice, Marakhal simply shakes his head no to the man’s question.

‘Suit yourself. I’ll be back in a bit.’ He moves to kiss the elf’s mouth, but she ducks her head so that his lips brush her hairline instead. Laughing, the man saunters off in the direction of the elves. 

Marakhal’s emotions jumble over one another. Anger, jealousy, embarrassment, confusion. 

‘Kili!’ She whispers and moves to embrace him. 

‘I told you to call me Khal.’ He snaps, stepping backwards, looking around to see if any nearby dwarves had noticed what the elf had said.

‘Ok, Khal.’ She amends. ‘Why wouldn’t you kiss me?’ 

‘Uh…because that…MAN just kissed you.’ He hisses.

‘He means nothing to me.’

‘Really?’

‘I had nowhere else to go after the battle. The elves wouldn’t have me. Nor the people of Laketown. I had to find refuge somewhere.’ She argues. 

‘So you found refuge in the arms of a man of the North?’ Marakhal cannot help but accuse. 

‘I had nowhere to go. You! You ran off after that stupid child. YOU left ME!’ She snaps, her face flushing red with her rising anger. 

‘That stupid child as you call him is my BROTHER’s child.’ Marakhal replies icily. 

‘So what?’ She wails. Tears pool in her eyes, and her tone melts from anger to pleading. 

‘I loved you….and you abandoned me for him. I risked my life for you. I saved your life. I would have DIED for you! That is what real love is! I still love you.’ 

Marakhal stands staring at her. Even crying the elf maid is beautiful, he cannot deny that, and when she moves towards him again, he lets her. However, something profound shifts in his brain. The willingness to die for someone does NOT constitute love. Especially if one has only known that someone for a very short time. Love is more than physical attraction and admiration. 

‘Let’s get out of here.’ The elf whispers. 

‘What about Nadril?’ 

‘What about him?’ 

‘You would leave him without a word or backward glance?’ 

‘I told you, he means nothing to me. Only you.’ She snuggles deeper into Marakhal’s embrace. 

‘You sent him off to fetch wine so we could make our escape?’ 

‘Of course.’ She breathes and presses her body closer. 

‘What about Thorin? My brother’s son? What about him?’ 

‘Leave him. He will be fine where he is.’ She moves to cover his mouth with hers. 

‘No.’ The dwarf pushes her away. ‘That’s not…right.’ 

‘Don’t you love me? Don’t you want to be together?’ 

‘Aye.’ Marakhal answers honestly. ‘But there are more things in play here than just that. I will not leave Thorin. Not yet anyway. And as much as it pains me to say, it would be wrong for you to leave Nadril without some kind of explanation.’ 

The elf maid looks at Marakhal as if he had lost his mind. A memory springs to the dwarf’s mind at her confused expression. She had worn the exact same look on her face when the elven soldiers had accosted her about her actions during the Battle of Five Armies. They had asked if she had felt anything for the elves, the soldiers that had once been under HER command, as they lay dead at her feet. Marakhal remembers that the elven guards had been astounded at her callousness, and he also remembers she had felt all her actions had been justified because she had been acting in a way to protect someone she loved. 

Pushing her further away from himself, Marakhal, peers into her face, hoping that she sees his point. She doesn’t.

Heartbroken but resolute, the young dwarf turns to trudge towards the main gate of the Lonely Mountain. 

‘You will not turn your back. Not THIS time, Kili.’ 

Marakhal looks over shoulder to find the razor blade sharp, tristar point of an arrow hovering within feet of his nose. 

‘Khal?’ The guard’s head whips back round at the high pitched voice. Quickly, Marakhal steps in between the boy and the arrow. Turning the lad by his shoulders, the guard keeps his hands on Prince Thorin’s body, steering the boy before him, away from the elf maid and her bow. 

‘She called you Kili.’ Thorin whispers, clearly bewildered.

‘Do you think he life is worth more than mine?’ He hears her sob behind him. 

‘Aye and more than mine.’ He throws over his shoulder, waiting for the sharp metal to pierce his back at any moment, as he and Thorin move further away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may guess, I may not a fan of Tauriel. Not because she was not in the book. She could have been a great addition to the Hobbit, but I found her character to be lacking on many levels.


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get wrapped up to dove tail back to canon.

Twenty Years After the War of the Ring

One hundred, seventy seven is not old for a dwarf, but two hundred and seventy seven is. The dwarven royal guard still has all of his dark brown hair, but much to his horror, he had recently found a strand or two of grey. He can feel the weight of age in his solid bones. Glancing over at the older dwarf dozing next to him, he starts as the realization hits that he is now the same age this slumbering dwarf had been when they had sent out in their quest to reclaim a homeland a century ago. 

Marakhal marvels at how inexperienced and immature he had been when his uncle had gathered his closest allies to form the company of Thorin Oakenshield. How in the name of Mahal had any of them survived? The dwarf next to him snorts loudly in his sleep and jerks awake. Dwalin runs his large, scarred hands over his bald pate and down his now snowy white beard. Even though he is approaching his third century, an unheard age of for a dwarf, he still retains an element of the latent physical power he possessed in his prime. The old dwarf shakes his head to clear it of the cobwebs of slumber. 

‘Any word?’ Dwalin croaks.

Khal shakes his head as he looks at the still firmly closed, stone door. 

‘I reckon these things can’t be rushed.’ Dwalin yawns, stretching his legs out and shifting in his seat. 

‘No.’ A soft, feminine voice answers from the other side of Khal. He squeezes her hand, loving how the long, slender fingers feel against his thick, short ones. Even though the appendages are very different, they somehow slot together perfectly. It is an apt metaphor for the pair’s entire relationship. 

Dwalin snorts dismissively. ‘You two have been too busy tramping around Middle Earth these last decades to get to this bit, I suppose.’ The bald dwarf nods his head towards the door to indicate his meaning. 

Her laughter is genuine. ‘Perhaps.’

Marakhal looks mortified and is about to set Dwalin straight when more guests enter the large, comfortable chamber. His mouth goes dry when he sees Gandalf the White followed by Gimli and the elf, Legolas. Khal will never get used to seeing the wizard in white robes and hatless versus cloaked in drab grey with that large, floppy hat. He smiles as he sees Gimli and Legolas together. He is not sure of the true nature of their friendship, but it does not matter a whit. He is happy that his cousin has found a friend. He is glad the elf has the same. 

Once the War of the Ring had concluded and against all odds, the free peoples had prevailed, Middle Earth was settling into the new age. The race of men was taking up the mantle of rule of Middle Earth, led by a capable and kind king, Aragorn, and elves were leaving in droves to sail to the West. Khal would never guess that one day, his cousin, Gimli would one day depart Middle Earth to accompany the platinum blonde elf to the Grey Havens. But then again, there are many, many things Khal would have never guessed would have happened after he and his brother had first knocked on Mr. Baggins door a century earlier. 

The restless pacing of the king drags Khal from his musings. He cannot help but smile a bittersweet smile. King Thorin III had matured in a fine dwarf and a finer king. With his dark hair, he looks so much like Thorin Oakenshield at times it pinches Marakhal’s heart. It is only in hindsight that Khal can see how strongly his uncle and his brother had favored one another; however, just as himself, many could not see past the difference in their hair coloring to appreciate the resemblance. 

While the two Thorins share the Durin dark hair, Thorin III’s face, especially his gentle smile, dimples and all, belongs solely to his brother. That face and that smile had seen Khal through some of the darkest days of his life. He remembers back to the first days and weeks following the Battle of Five Armies, the death of his brother, his uncle’s abrupt departure to parts unknown. The face of a tiny, bewildered dwarfing had been the only thing to keep him grounded to Erebor.

After the horrific scene with Tauriel, when King Dain, the Queen and Marakhal had had to recount the truth to the young prince about his father and Khal’s identity, the dwarfling had cleaved himself even more firmly to his guard, his uncle’s, side. Khal could attest that, while not the lad’s biologically father, Dain had been an excellent parent and role model, steady, loving, yet firm when he needed to be. With time, the dwarfling had grown and matured, and he had needed Khal less and less. 

Marakhal slips further into his own thoughts and remembrances. He remembers first learning of his uncle’s fate and that of Lord Balin. It had been after the War of the Ring when Gandalf the White had brought the news to Erebor. The Lonely Mountain had been mourning the death of King Dain as he had been slain defending Bain’s son, Brand, The Lord of Dale, as they fought side by side to defend their homes against the forces of Mordor. Thorin Stonehelm had just been crowned King Thorin III, King Under the Mountain when Gandalf and Gimli had arrived with their sad news. 

Gimli had told of finding the tomb of Balin in Khazad-dum where all the dwarves there had perished. Oin and Ori included. Then Gandalf had recounted finding evidence of a failed attempt to reentomb the balrog. Gandalf had supposed it to have been the work of Maratharon. Speculating, the wizard theorized that he had tried to reseal the balrog deep within the dwarven mines of Khazad-dum and had himself perished in the blast. 

Balin, Oin, and Ori had set out when his uncle had never returned, assuming he had been successful in ridding Khazad-dum of the balrog. They had been mistaken. Khal remembers that the news of Thorin’s and Balin’s death so close of the heels of Dain’s had almost killed Dwalin. It was only with the care and comfort of the Queen that Dwalin had finally recovered from his broken heart. 

Khal also remembers the words of the Queen when she had admonished him to stop living for his brother’s child. Thorin III was grown she had argued. She had been the one to reason with Khal that Fili would have never wanted him to forsake his own happiness. In her new role as the Dowager Queen, she had all insisted that Khal accompany her to Gondor for King Aragorn’s coronation. King Thorin III had been newly crowned and newly married. He had not wanted to leave his kingdom nor his bride. He sent his mother to Gondor in his stead. 

In Gondor, Khal had met a lovely, dark haired, Dunedain woman, a proud warrior with smooth, creamy skin. It took the better part of two years for the two to get to know each other, but once they did, they realized that they did not want to ever be without the other. They had spent the last decade and a half wandering Middle Earth together. Khal had never been happier. 

The pair had returned to Erebor with all speed when the news had reached them. Khal shifts nervously in his chair. Next to him, Dwalin had fallen back asleep. The Dowager Queen, her hands fidgeting, sits next to the old dwarf. The pair had become very close over the past years. One was rarely seen without the other. Again, Khal is thankful that they have each other for companionship. 

When the large, stone door swings open, all pacing and any muffled conversation ceases immediately, and Marakhal’s attention is pulled back to the present. King Thorin III, looking for all the world like Thorin Oakenshield, strides purposefully forward to receive the news. 

‘A fine son, your majesty. Mother and child are both hale and hearty.’ 

The assembled group lets go of the collective breath they had seemed to be unconsciously holding, to give way to cheers and shouts of joy. The next in the unbroken line of Durin had made his way into the world this day. 

When the newborn is laid in King Thorin’s arms for the first time, Khal, standing next to him, is thankful for another fact. A halo of blonde hair encircles the babe’s head. With the legal changes King Dain had enacted, along with a century of true equality for any and all fair haired dwarves within Erebor, where old prejudices based on the color of one’s hair were simply not tolerated, Khal does not worry that his great nephew will not be accepted as the rightful heir to the throne as King Under the Mountain. 

Erebor would spend the next several days in festive celebration. When asked the child’s name, it is not the proud parents who answer. Without any pause or the slightest doubt, Gandalf the White proclaims. 

‘He should be called Durin for that is who he is.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to wrap up all the details. Please tell me if I missed something. Basically, I wanted to write a story where things fall back into line with canon writings of Tolkien, but with some twists. Things ended up in accordance to how Professor Tolkien wrote his story. I thank all of the readers who have commented and/or left kudos. If you've liked how this story, I'm glad. If you didn't, I'm sorry you wasted your time reading it.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how this idea popped into my head, but honestly, I could say that about most of the story lines that pop into my head. This is an exploration of 'what if Durin the Deathless came back to inhabit Fili's body?' I know, I know, it sounds morbid. It probably will be. I have no idea how long this fic will be. I'm going to guess less than 10 chapters.


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